At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
...it is love, imperfect and unordered, that keeps them apart, even as it holds them somehow together...
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...it is love, imperfect and unordered, that keeps them apart, even as it holds them somehow together...
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