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[Jul. 3rd, 2006|10:29 pm] |
The past is a gaping hole. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it's like kissing the lips of your dead love, darkness waiting in the hole of her mouth.
We are willing to suffer, to die for the things we care about. For love, for right choices.
Because of her, I had solved the case. My case, all of it. Who I am.
She was dead. The bullet in her head had come to the end of it's slow-motion journey.
It was almost morning. Waking up from the American Dream.
Now, like all my loves, she is mine forever. She has brought me here, to this moment of clarity, where time slows down, and I choose to look back. To see myself. And in that act of seeing, I am reborn.
I had a dream of my wife. She was dead.
But it was all right. |
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