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Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
In my dreams I gorge on chocolates, I roll in chocolates, and their texture is not brittle but soft as flesh, like a thousand mouths on my body, devouring me in fluttering small bites. To die beneath their tender gluttony seems the culmination of every temptation I have ever known.
Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.
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