Unfinished stories have a way with calling out to you by your name. There is something vulnerable about them that invites nurturing; like a crying child who loses the way home. These unfinished stories want you to cradle them in your arms once more, to soothe them, deal with all their loose ends and complete them. How desperately you want to give in to all this subtle imploring and play the woman, the ever-nurturing mother. But what you don't know is that they want to seep into your system. That's is the only chance they have for survival. Do not let these abandoned tales get to you. They are like slow poison. Run far, far away.
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