The OffingBenjamin Miller
Not even I would know the truth, but if illusions offer comfort it is this: I do not need it. Intimations of the thaw abound - the shards and misreflections of another age that fade into cuneiform cracks on the bathroom door. The blue couch with its rings beneath the cushions - from the rain. You know you are entitled to this wounded sense of drowsiness, and I? I am a fool, a disbeliever.
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