feeling it so much that it balls in my throat on my tongue, the rubble and dust of it, the breakage.

June 27, 2011

like debris in water, I might wash entirely away; I might dissolve from this, I might disappear in a night.

Stop, Valerie. Sweetheart, dear one. Stop.

But it is like asking me to stop breathing. (Oh but I do it so well.)

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