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a potpourri of sense and feminine lunacy

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drown

I thought that David's death had completely humbled me, but i was wrong.

I smelt the dankness of their hearts as i swam in the cold waters, grey as death, searching for hope. Around me, they beat feebly in disarray, some broken, some mended, others gashed and bleeding. Some hardened. Some knotted in fear. Their fragments, shattered, are flung far. They cannot find themselves again.

M # Saturday, May 23, 2009.