By Daniel Aristi

You’ve dealt with me daily as if I were a carton of milk whose actual content & weight you could never properly gauge:

Three quarters full of sentiment and you’d think I was hollow; your drunk yank by the scruff would fall short, and make me tumble and spill insides, or

Like some strongman, you’d lift me swiftly with one hand the whole length of your arm even though there was no need for force because I was


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Daniel Aristi

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