Burke lurks in the far corner of my bedroom when the lights are out and I’m in bed, wedged between my IKEA pillows.

Burke lurks in the far corner of my bedroom when the lights are out and I’m in bed, wedged between my IKEA pillows.
This was a companion to the love I had known: the shutting of doors.
Marge ends up back in the same spot where she began, idly considering the corn-patterned curtains as she washes the dishes.
damn the children’s wing.
history is made up of the things that didn’t happen just as much as the ones that did.
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