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My children. My life’s work, my greatest loves, orchestrators of total psychological trauma and everyday destruction.
How relatable
What are we, apart from the stories we tell ourselves and other people? I know all too well that I’m a flimsy construct, a flamboyant play set shot through with exaggerations and inconsistencies and secret compartments full of unsavory surprises.
your heart can’t break unless it has something to love.
