My reply, Lucy.

Check out this incredible poem by Matt. It was a response to a comment I left on one of his pieces, and I really enjoyed reading it.

mtaggartwriter

and also the men who are too large, walking. hurting, toward the store
and the women who sit in their cars, windows nearly closed, smoke
everywhere and they see me looking at you, in my phone, while I’m
none of them and also everything they are and here we all sit
Wondering about how the soft shuffling of a heavy foot can make
it to the entrance of the store, one with a door that opens for them,
knowing they are hurt. And maybe think about their death.
I see in them what they hate about themselves and I feel.

-M. Taggart

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Chapter Two of The Obsession.

She could barely remember the former king, but she knew enough modern history that the colonies dispersed before killing each other in a series of small wars. It was knowledge that felt natural to her. She was in enough battles, recalling in distant psychological experience, to warrant the existential solipsistic dread that when she held the sword, she was the only one that mattered in anyone's eyes. Including her father's.