A forest of kitsch

Talking to you is like moving through a forest, X tells me, like the one that grew next to our house, the one I grew up in and played in. Except I knew then I’d be able to get back home no matter where I went, but now I don’t, now I come out where I thought was home and realise I’m in a bigger forest. A forest of kitsch. And where are you, he asks me, who do you think you are to lead me astray?

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