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infrared.these are the contrasts which will make it difficult for me to believe in anything that is said and will be said for it is not of sound mind but only of able body.
my eyes have burnt up and exploded into embers that are floating to your house to knock on your door and tell you that it is time to die tonight. The sky will catch fire and then burn like a cold stone for hours until there is nothing left but the moon beneath our feet in the puddles after the hurricane.
the only challenge which you are given is to control your feet before you walk off the edge.
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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