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November catches the lonely.

It's the first days of frost, when the cold creeps in and the shadows of noon grow to be long like the cracks in the backs of my hands.

November is when noses begin to run, and hearts begin to long to do just the same. My feet ache to run the length of the frosty, suffocating morning shadows. My heart longs to search the fog for something warm, even another lonely soul.

November is when the lonely are welcomed.

 

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