018: generation kill | there are stories in the soil

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Dust settles in the corners of their eyes and the branches of their lungs, white staining their vision, breaths heavy with sand. The emptiness can be beautiful, can serve as a metaphor for their organs or their personal horizons, lets them blot out the sun with the curve of a thumb and wonder if that's all it really takes. They are warriors, but

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Re: this is me

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