I'm here, lying amongst the paintstrokes and the torn edges. Once again I have destroyed something, in this case an old painting featuring some calm brushstrokes in a nice sea-ish blue and a rusty red colour. I always love to rip something up, or to cut up and old thing like this, breathing a bit of life into it and treasuring the destruction before burying it nicely. Lots of things made beautiful and interesting in their deaths.
Because ends are beginnings, depending on how you tell your story.
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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.
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