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So, I kinda left. I'm in a shelter with my kids. Told T what happened and well, here I am. I think I'm pretty numbed out right now honestly. Haven't a clue what's going to happen next...
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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