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I love reading poetry, and yet, at this point, the thought of writing a poem, to me, is tantamount to figuring out a trigonometry question.

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Nor was her love for Udayan recognizable or intact. Anger was always mounted to it, zigzagging through her like some helplessly mating pair of insects...more

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But death, too, had the power to awe, she knew this now-that a human being could be alive for years and years, thinking and breathing and eating, full...more