Papilleau (papilleau) wrote,
Papilleau
papilleau

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..fairest of them all..


    He had arrived at a sort of
    modus vivendi with his grief, and such deals were best not broken. You wore your grief, and if necessary you ate it and you drank it until it became your substance, until you looked in the miror one day and there was nothing looking back but grief itself, a man made entirely of sorrow, but still standing, somehow still alive, surviving.

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