2002-08-01-11:13 a.m. There is NothingThere is nothing still or small about this one who wedges his foot in the door and works his way in. He slips bitterness from under my plate and replaces it with tenderness. He finds my stash of resentment and leaves only love. There is nothing still or small about him. He is swift and stealthy, awaiting my nod before stealing me blind.
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