A well built bridge is like an epic poem of both love and death, doubt and truth, weaved with incomprehensible wordy stanzas. You might pretend to get the poem, but really no one fully gets it except for the author, and that’s the best part.
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When you can go to a bar alone, sober, and feel more comfortable with old people and local bar greasers than your own ‘friends,’ then you’re already your own type of breed, but what does it really mean to have courage today?
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