You can make up for mistakes made along the way; time lost; hearts broken. You can stitch things together—make sense of what went wrong—bring meaning to what is inherently meaningless and condense things to their proper terms—where those around you can look past the mess you’ve made and only see how you’ve come to frame it—in terms that are brilliant and meaningful. You create beauty in meeting dead-end girls and having dead-end sex in dead-end relationships; this wasn’t time wasted, this was time making art. This is what you tell yourself in your kitchen, in the middle of the night, as the
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