Just on the verge ofbecoming a woman, and in these three years and almost five months, I'dreached maturity. I was older than the mountains outside. The wisdomof the attic was in my bones, etched on my...
I'd rather have names to hurt me, than my bones broken with sticks and stones.
If I am to be a skeleton in a box buried deep into the ground, I pray you will be the dust that rests atop my bones.
Dancing to the sounds of trees and stones and slow minutes ticking in our hearts and bones.
Oh literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow in our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!
Today I speak to my bones as I would speak to a dog. I want to go up the stairs, I tell them. Up, up, up, with one leg dragging. Is the ache deep in the bones, this elusive pain? Does that mean it wil...
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