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There are wounds we speak of and then there are ones we bury so deeply we convince ourselves they never existed, but buried pain doesn’t die. It waits it grows, and sometimes it comes back wearing a different face, a different Voice,a different life …something …unrecognizable.
By Madam MidnightThere are wounds we speak of and then there are ones we bury so deeply we convince ourselves they never existed, but buried pain doesn’t die. It waits it grows, and sometimes it comes back wearing a different face, a different Voice,a different life …something …unrecognizable.