Bits of our childhood. Bits of our youth. Meandering foolishly across the waters and earths of a motley civilisation. I remember the worlds we met in, the worlds in which we departed, over and over again. We won't remember it the same way, because we manage memory differently. One in the moment, one in a timeless space. Orgasms are different without you. There is no weight between my hands and my cock. Nothing to lean into, nothing to hold, closely with whispers and chit-chat. Far out, you thrive without concerns of loss, nurturing only a casual loneliness. And that loneliness is my casual loss, folded into the negging boredom of a life in a world of plebs, whose movements remind me of you. And several others too, but for now, mostly you.

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