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You are browsing the archives of Matt Friedman.
You are browsing the archives of Matt Friedman.
When the hands reads 7:30 and your night begins to sink in the short but faster fall
In the anxious but calm retort to mirror that frames your face baring the finest swell
When the day begins to break like the tears that run across your cheek, stand straight and imagine you then
In the things and the [...]