i am a walking chimney, holes in my bones, cavities in my teeth. i am trying to remember myself as a child, but i just come up with empty anecdotes, stories reconstructed by twice removed family members, smoke and mirrors with a tiny gauze of truth. if you die this week, there are only two left of us. we work well as a dying breed. we feel more
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i'm adding you, i hope you don't mind.
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