ghostalgia xi
the crawling, the baby, what if it was never me, what if it was my memory of being near the thing that's coming, and my kids can't sleep if a paint can is open and you only talk to me when I'm dying
the crawling, the baby, what if it was never me, what if it was my memory of being near the thing that's coming, and my kids can't sleep if a paint can is open and you only talk to me when I'm dying
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