Ericka

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Of a time in which the hollowing echo of loneliness didn’t ring so loud in her steps, her voice, and her body. None of her indulgences had yet silenced the shrill call of such a vast empty; still, she latched, she let go, she consumed, unhinged the jaw of her soul to drink whatever was given. And, still, nothing satiated.
Butter Honey Pig Bread
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