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by Michelle Shin She is lying on her usual spot on the floor, slowly running her fingers through the carpet as if raking sand in a zen garden. A battered sigh escapes her lips. Do you have any idea how it feels to be this tired? He looks at her. At the tiny tributaries of veins on her closed eyelids, searching for a path back to their home river. At how the carpet alongside her body looks like weeds against a manicured lawn I just might. Copyright 2025. All rights reserved.
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