"[I]f an American jumps out of an airplane, you can't sell him a parachute until after he hits the ground.
...I can still let it go, I can still learn to grow into a child again. .. Silence is easy—it just becomes me. You don’t even know me; why lie about me?
...the rotted love manipulates me
and I, I, you, we’re not thinking my stromata
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