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The ramble that we made across the downs through copses, fields and meadows, when the days were turning copper, and the warring winds blew both our thoughts and hair in disarray, when in a...

Scruples # 2 by demure101

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I paint, draw, and write every version of myself I am the subject that I know best Do you really see me? Will you know I was here? My soul is like a broken piece of pottery Slowly repaired by...

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threshing oats cicada lands on my head i scream like a little girl

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