There's this feeling you get when discrete parts of your body fail to communicate with your mind. Or maybe that's not it. Maybe discrete parts of your body communicate with your mind, but your body speaks only Portuguese and your mind, Spanish. Maybe it is that your mind never gets around to checking its messages. Sometimes your body finds other ways to talk back. Maybe your hand casually slaps your face. Maybe your feet seek out and find every last crack in the sidewalk. It’s a passive aggressive exercise, but then you think, maybe that’s what keeps you alive. Portuguese.
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