To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 06-07-2024 16:31:09
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