Smouldering timber and melancholy pemeate my lungs as I stick to the path.
I savour the slight taste of Southern comfort, but my being yearns for more.
Beside the water's edge my fingers puncture the river's skin, striving to connect with something natural.
He condems me in a momentary look, uncontainable sterile tears; I crave to caress the dirt.
This the most achingly beautiful place to come across a little death.
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