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An empty bliss beyond this World

@saintjehanne / saintjehanne.tumblr.com

Ada Limón, from “The Hurting Kind,” in The Hurting Kind

[text ID: Before my grandfather died, I asked him what sort / of horse he had growing up. He said, / Just a horse. My horse, with such a tenderness it / rubbed the bones in the ribs all wrong. / I have always been too sensitive, a weeper / from a long line of weepers. / I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.]
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