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Love and dread are brethren said a mystic woman in the Middle Ages.
what could be more American than choosing one’s future decline.
I’ve begun to believe the present, like the shadows on the water, twisting, doesn’t have to be a form the past took. The past has taken so much. Must there be more to give, to give back, to get on, or away, from this?
Why was I polite when the world is on fire?
