Tending the Black Garden

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My muscles are sore, tired.  Toes are cold.  Not a lot of light in here.  I can't think of anything that I'm really looking forward to.  Sadness is like a garden.  Dark flowers, everywhere.  I miss...everything.  Happiness is a mountain.  

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This page contains a single entry by John published on January 5, 2010 4:36 PM.

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