What My Mother Lost Hannah Herrin
I can remember your eyes in a void where dark matter has coalesced into beads, light-encrypted, gorging on a bouquet of nothing, nothing linked up, drawn out and back further to father even farther there holding you in some perforation of space, a pore of time, spongy weeping the strange liquid of never to touch, to never touch, touching the edge of your almost yet to happen.
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