Posts
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Pieces
The best, and possibly, the first thing — or, at least, the first thing I remember, anyway— that my mother ever told me, her arms wrapped around my small body, black hair glinting in the firelight, was, "Your heart is not a cond
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Keep On
I walk, silent, my fingers sliding across the moist bark, knuckles brushing soft moss, the pads of my feet just barely making a sound against the leaves blown across the ground.
My back aches. My knees creak.
I keep on.