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by
Amy Harmon
Read between
March 23 - March 24, 2025
I wondered if his yearning was for the day, as if it would save him from his fate, as if the night was responsible for his death.
I had been alone for so long with thousands of words I couldn’t express.
I had called them to me, collecting them like falling leaves, pressing them between the heavy pages of my memory so I could keep them.