By Alex Wilburn
"I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over. Love, life, meaning... over. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface. (turn the page)
October. (turn the page)
November. (turn the page)
December. (turn the page)
January. (turn the page)
And then I woke up. (turn the page)
Chapter 4. Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me."
And now I think I've convinced you not to buy two things this month.
-- ALEX WILBURN
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