All men walk a line.
Some men walk a tightrope.
I walk the edge of a canyon.
Brysie holds my hand and keeps me steady. Sometimes she wants to let go. I know it. Sometimes when I almost fall off the precipice I can feel, for a moment, her fingers loosen. Those are the times when all I hear is the sound of her tears and sobs in the inferno below, a
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BUT WITHOUT A GOOD REASON FOR BEING A BAG O'DICKS
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