What pleasure do I get from that thousand dollar jacket I last hugged from the inside a dozen years ago? It hangs, spiritless inside my closet like a prison suicide waiting to be discovered by the indifferent morning shift. Or those fancy leather shoes
Holding On
What pleasure do I get from that thousand dollar jacket I last hugged from the inside a dozen years ago? It hangs, spiritless inside my closet like a prison suicide waiting to be discovered by the indifferent morning shift. Or those fancy leather shoes
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