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  • Writer's pictureRabby

Dog Days

Those were the quiet years.They lasted a while. They were the days of breaking vases, spilling oils and shedding tears, The months of digging deep and waiting in the darkness. thick darkness. One that could be felt.In the years of waiting, I was alone. It wasn’t an exodus. It was an exile. And in those moments, I longed for company. I remember the long lightless loneliness.

but that’s all I remember.

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