i wake one night, and she's absent from the room. i swing my legs out of bed.
i find her on the couch, her face filled with worry.
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clouded
Poetrycigarettes, to the broken soul, are what advil is to an aching head. an escape from all pain. -- best rank: #974 in short story
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i wake one night, and she's absent from the room. i swing my legs out of bed.
i find her on the couch, her face filled with worry.
