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The past has a way of piling up, ready to help us, ready to betray us. This growing mountain of memories, always ready to collapse & bury me.
When I'm buried in remorse & regret, I envy those whose mountains are steady, or who have swept them away in the trickle of time.
Then I think of the days holed up in caves of love & tenderness. Crushed in avalanches of hugs, spring scents, & nights gazing at the stars.
The past has a way of piling up behind us and inside us.

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