“you’re right maybe there is no such thing as a country maybe there is just gutted land and rows of sharp teeth that have torn at my flesh for so long I’m not exactly sure which wound is the one I belong to.”
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“It is somehow easy to forget that there are so many ways to die while black & not all of them involve being made hollow while the world watches & isn’t that a funny thing?”
“The seasons I remember most are the ones I never want to come again. And isn’t this how each story starts? With a list of things we know we cannot take back?”
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“which is a weird way to say I think I could love you until even the sun grows tired of coming back every spring.”