Sanch Writes

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I trudged that desolate path, wandered disoriented and confused. I rotted with the shame of being unlovable, rusted in my envy of those who found love so easily. My body ached from disaffection. My face hurt from not speaking. And there was sleep, too much of it. And boredom. It pinned me, mesmerised, to the void.
She I Dare Not Name: A spinster's meditations on life
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