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I just said this in Crypto's thread but my best friend's mom, who was more of a mom to me than my mother ever was, died just a few weeks ago. It was really rough. She was a beautiful artist and poet. In her service notes there was a poem she'd written in the 70s.
"The things I think in murky hours.
The heavy box and waxy flowers.
People sit and pews and sigh.
And slowly watch as I go by."
I hope everything turns out fine.
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rip
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