In the service of . . . I don't know, some idea that maybe I could do something beautiful with the words of someone gone, I opened her Live Journal to read it. Her voice is so clear that I can hear it like she's just in the next room, like I could just walk in and start having a conversation with her. I miss her. I miss her laugh. She mentions
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I know that place. I do not love it there.
Please try to find a way out that is relatively easy.
If you have to stay there awhile, be gentle with yourself.
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