I woke up and made a promise to you. I woke up and said: I am writing this to you from the edge. The place where I fry eggs on Tuesday mornings and rest the dead memories of our after years down for a long cold nap. This is the deep dark precipice The space of “how are you’s and I don’t cares” The space of empty prophecies dressed up as wet cows. The space for you to fall, and drawl, and weep and keen. This is somewhere in between. -RBR
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