"April 8, 2020"

 

by Paola Martinez Fiterre from Long Island City, NY

 
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More and more I am made of holes. Holes full of chocolate and coffee. It's been a long time since I was just meat and bones. The word holes' is temporary, there is no hole that has not been filled once. Only disappointment remains empty forever, and that's a word that never dies.

 
 

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