December 2011
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ten years at sea.
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Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart
– William Wordsworth
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Home for christmas, gonna get my blog on some time soon :)
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The heart, dissected
When I was a little girl, I always had a vague notion that the human heart was something old-fashioned and twee, like a handkerchief or floral bouquet. It would sit clean and bloodless and flat behind the chest, in the shape of a Valentine’s Day card. It was like an origami crane in an antiqued birdcage, its beating only meaningful to the stethoscopes of prurient doctors. This concept neatly...
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If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of...
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