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I faced Him at the Gates.
You stole from me, He said. What did I steal from you? People. You told them I didn’t exist and they believed you. They could have been mine, Feasting in my house. Forever. The gates closed before me.
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AuthorWell, as the title says, I may never be a writer, but who knows what my brain holds. I'll just let it seep out onto this page now and then. It's a bit of a scary thought. Archives
August 2019
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