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... try. I didn’t know if I should laugh, cry, or take up a third, less exhausting hobby, like pottery. Or sword-swallowing. It was a rare thing, for hope and dread to nest side by side in my chest, gnawing away like polite rats who’d agreed to share the spoils. But tonight, there it was: something between grief and a ridiculous, stubborn happiness.
Sleep felt like a dare, and yet the exhaustion physical, emotional, and existential caught up with me as I changed into an old shirt that smelle ...
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