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Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Push.

A sort of separation.
It does not happen quickly, because you linger to contemplate...
The half a million pieces lying quietly on the broken tiles.

We wore a certain skin when we were united.
A shield, almost.

Scars,

"There's so many scars. Look at them."
"Yeah... I like them though."
"Whose? Yours or mine?"
"Both."