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The Bolan Mail
Now as I writhe in pain in misty dawn with twisted back and sleepless crimson eyes, my fear turns to anger, and resentment against myself, for believing that you cared.
It was gullible to believe that Islamic discoveries, hurtling across desert nights and the Bolan mail offer to share one life with another, had been accepted, or even understood.
But I dared to dream there would be no banishment, no orphaned cries, no abandoned wails of hooting trains at night, and that the Bolan mail would run through my life.
But you derailed all that, and did not stoop or stop, or look back even once, to see the wreckage you left behind.
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