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in my most comforting presence.
A Sunday roast,
beer I hadn’t asked for,
Plans I didn’t make.
within vague familiarity,
I feel at ease.
It shouldn’t console me.
Shouldn’t be a place of solace.
Shouldn’t kindle nostalgia.
It should be perturbing.
Should be a thing of fear.
Should incite reminiscence.
But it makes me want to stay—
makes me comfortable
with the discomfort.
— A.M. Sención
02.2025
This writing is my original work. Do not reproduce without permission.
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