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November 5, 2020
With our eyes closed, we are not what we will be, what we will become. We are waiting, waiting to be seen. You writhe in solitude. You are eating the sun as she climbs in the sky and as long as you keep eating, she will not burn you; you will not cry. It is flames against your ears, flames against your eyes, and you hold her hot under your breath as she eats through your chest. Sure it hurts for a while, but life is pain. It aches and it is torn. What else could you have been born?