Your life - the past, everything that has happened before you passed through those endless rows of razor-wire - becomes this crystallized object. Like an insect preserved in amber. You can inspect it, hold it up to the light, turn it over and over, squint into it's petrified depths. But you can never get inside of it without breaking it apart and never being able to put it back together again.
Everything I Tell You is a Lie
Fingers Murphy
2011
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