I’m looking at my nails now. They look like steam. White and brown, live and dead- like an opaque barrier between what is and what could be. At the end of my fingers are crusty crescents of a stale star.
In the ambit of possibility, where does beyond begin?
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Ref.: Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash I sit with a knot in my stomach. My heart is beating really fast and I recognize that the pain ...
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