Its funny how a book can rip you apart, or maybe it's just that I'm that soft (too soft), that immediately drawn in by the language and the landscapes, the poetry and the people. Maybe its just that I get too attached to the beauty of it all. Eitherway, I am trying not to scoff at myself and be understanding of this renewed ability to cry, to sob
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Hopefully, sad things lead to happier memories.
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Morgan. D: Come on AIM.
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