October 2011
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As he looked into the valley, Joseph felt his body flushing with a hot fluid of...
– John Steinbeck, To a God Unknown, 1933 (via hart-in-holt)
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February 2011
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January 2011
1 post
December 2009
4 posts
I’m sick of everything that I come to love
Breaking apart, blown into dust by the wind
As if it was never there.
It’s easier to forget the love of all
When the bad times show
Than to remember the bad times indefinitely.
I’m sick, but I’m not the one dying.