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  • Fiction > Romance
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    I You turn up at my door exhausted and shaking, soaked, with mud up your trouser-legs and on your face, and a rag tied around your left hand. Your limbs are shining blue from the cold, and your eyes are red from crying. You make a sore picture, standing there in misery and the rain and only a tor...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    The birds died the day you left. They had their reasons, as you no doubt had yours. Because the sky broke. Because it was mourning. You tapped an apology from the tip of your cigarette, Turned, and walked away. The ashes settled on the ground at my feet. Snow-quiet, quiet, The body of ...

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