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The sun. A beacon guiding all toward the good intentions that grow over where graves begin. Time doesn't change inside the frame. There's only the dust collecting. Outside the glass the sky is falling... one drop at a time.

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Written by

tara-ewer-1

American

Published: Feb 18, 2012
LinesWords: 2039

Notes: Written while my mom was in the hospital ICU, struggling to survive...
and my uncle was in the same ICU...
struggling to die.

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