But somehow,I’ve stopped praising you. How the valleywhen you first see it—the small roads backto your youth—is so painfully pretty at first,then, after a month of black coffee, it’s justanother place your bullish brain exists, botheredby itself and how hurtful human life can be.Isn’t that how it is? You wake up some daysfull of crow and shine, and then someonehas put engine coolant in the medicineon another continent and not even cryinghelps cure the idea of purposeful poison.
-Ada Limon
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