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now that I got what I wanted I am dealing with the uncontrollable urge to abandon it all
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Ada Limón, from “The Hurting Kind,” in The Hurting Kind
[text ID: Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort / of horse he had growing up. He said, / Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it / rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong. / I have always been too sensitive, a weeper / from a long line of weepers. / I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.]
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BLASPHEMOUS 2
Open up the skin and red flesh. Uncover the lie that my shell conceals, for I am only blood and bones.
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“I have always loved sorrow and sadness, but for myself, myself alone,”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, from “The Dream of a Ridiculous Man,” wr. c. 1877
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