If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?



SC



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Thursday, June 27, 2013


He didn’t care for their shitting on his porch. They didn’t care for his passing so close to their young. But it was he who had built the eves wherein the swallows came to nest. In turn, it was they who kept the insects at bay, making evenings tolerable, sunsets worth watching again. There was sense in their compromise, man and bird.



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