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.
You make the rest of the beautiful things in the world cry for even trying at all. You make it hard for me to breathe.
Poughkeepsie
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You make the rest of the beautiful things in the world cry for even trying at all. You make it hard for me to breathe.
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