I have a sort of . . . thing, I suppose, for certain words. They spark inside me, somehow, turning me to touchpaper, but I don’t know what they are until someone says them.

I have a sort of . . . thing, I suppose, for certain words. They spark inside me, somehow, turning me to touchpaper, but I don’t know what they are until someone says them.

– Alexis Hall –

Waiting for the Flood

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