“We are what we hide.” I read that somewhere. Must have been some time ago. Or maybe I wrote it myself. From experience. I’m not really sure, but I know its truth. Our fallen hearts spin artifacts of fear; confining, hiding, confusing, obscuring. Betraying neighbors and friends, family, lovers, with only ever the partial glimpse, a pretense, or a parade. In the end, a fraud. I read that somewhere. Or maybe I wrote it myself. From experience.

—Clint Cline

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