"The dead still die: and in them the living. All space, and the eyes, hunted by brittle tools, confined to their habits. To breathe is to accept this lack of air, this only breath, sought in the fissures of memory, in the lapse that sunders this language pf feuds, without which earth would have granted a stronger omen to level the orchards of stone. Not even the silence pursues me."
Death Always Wins Community Member 
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Community Member