The crimson blood always seems to mock me. Nausea rose in my throat as I remembered each time I was left with only stains of blood, clear reminders of the emptiness of dreams. Each time I cursed this broken body incapable, it seemed, of giving, only skilled in letting go. Sometimes I wish I could let go of this part of me, this place inside that
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Love, Cat and Tea
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I loved your line about "cupid college" before I knew it was your entry for the week. Now it makes me laugh even more:)
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