I make a mistake every day. Wrong word. Wrong line. My ego is a secret self.
Belonging on paper, yet not in practice, is a real experience. I thought I understood it. It was only the beginning.
And in a way, it's just what I needed. I want the lines. The words. The things that distinguish. I look like me. I can still be one of them. I try harder. I try slower. I try again. My ego is a secret self.