Whitney FI

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I try to walk backward through my memory. Back up the path, through the apiary, into the cabin, up the stairs, to the vanity, but after that my memory becomes a rope unraveling. The timeline frays into dozens of strands, then hundreds. Hundreds of other lives, simultaneously playing in the eye of my memory, impossible to parse coherently.
Whitney FI
Lace = hive mind.
The Honeys
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