When I slip beneath the quilt and fold into your warmth, I think we are like the pages of a love letter written thirty years ago that some aging god still reads each day and then tucks back into its envelope.
When I slip beneath the quilt and fold into your warmth, I think we are like the pages of a love letter written thirty years ago that some aging god still reads each day and then tucks back into its envelope.
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Katy Butler On How Modern Medicine Decreases Our Chance Of A Good Death
