Margaret Atwood Quotes
I Can Listen To My Own Heartbeat Against The Bedsprings, I Can Stroke Myself, Under The Dry White Sheets, In The Dark, But I Too Am Dry And White, Hard, Granular; It's Like Running My Hand Over A Plateful Of Dried Rice; It's Like Snow. There's Something Dead About It, Something Deserted. I Am Like A Room Where Things Once Happened And Now Nothing Does, Except The Pollen Of The Weeds That Grow Up Outside The Window, Blowing In As Dust Across The Floor. Here
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