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"How long can my hands be a bandage to his hurt, and my words bright birds in the sky, consoling, consoling? It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world." -- Sylvia Plath

"How long can my hands be a bandage to his hurt, and my words bright birds in the sky, consoling, consoling? It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world." -- Sylvia Plath

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