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In this world, there is my golden city and there is its womb being torn open and bursting... There is screaming. In it is a cold August.
The little things we take advantage of, like a hot shower or a laptop, are never given much thought. That is, until we 'lose them', even temporarily.
She is a wild heart. She runs free. High in the mountains. Softly treading the hillside. Imprinting the sand by the ocean.