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T,
I don't know what I want right now. I don't know what to ask you for. I'm numb and struggling and I don't know what to do to make it better. I just keep putting one foot in front of the other hoping to reach a place where it'll be okay.
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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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