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Yet, even after so long, I still listen for the sound of another’s voice, the ring of footsteps on the stairs, or a figure moving silhouetted in the distance.
(The strange thing in Hell is, you always know what time it is.
Yes, heaven would be as full of difference as Hell was of sameness.
It seems odd to me now that after so long I still focus on a time so brief as to be but a fraction of an instant in the time I will be here, but so powerfully has that instant rooted into me that I hold onto it with a hopeless desperation.
