A thread is pulled from my finger.
Another one from my stomach
A third one swings my leg backwards. I land flat faced and bruised.
A million different threads all tug in a million different directions. All pulling out, but very few rebounding in.
Where history is hip.
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A thread is pulled from my finger.
Another one from my stomach
A third one swings my leg backwards. I land flat faced and bruised.
A million different threads all tug in a million different directions. All pulling out, but very few rebounding in.
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