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Everyone has a ghost. Some call them their first love. I call mine you. You're my ghost, the stone in my heart. And how does one - erode a stone? Vitrification? Turn you into something, pleasing to touch? Oh - but my hands are - cold as snow.
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Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
Waste of Paint
Everyone has a ghost. Some call them their first love. I call mine you. You're my ghost, the stone in my heart. And how does one - erode a stone? Vitrification? Turn you into something, pleasing to touch? Oh - but my hands are - cold as snow.
beau-phoenix-rose
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Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:50 AM UTC
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