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My dad always says 'poorly, thank God!' when asked how he is. People think he's joking.
T (again) has not replied to my reply to the two day late reply. I wish it didn't hurt so bloody much that I'm awake at 1am crying about it... I feel perfectly pathetic.
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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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