I trapped the darkness in the garden with an old song and an older letter. It struggled in my hands, but I told it that I was sick of it having power over me. I kept the darkness under a bell jar, feeding it fresh sprigs of holly every morning. It thumped against the glass continually.
I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.
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I thought that darkness in me would be bigger.
That it would make a greater sound than a whine.
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If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.