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August 16 - September 13, 2024
It was the sort of beautiful great art and literature was created for. Fragile and delicate and destructive. I would write about it the very instant I was alone, and if the words didn’t exist to describe it, then I’d create new ones.
It was an antidote. Except he was my poison, too.
What was one more battle scar on my heart when the war was this glorious?
