"I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future."
Had a similar moment last night. Except instead of a cracked high ceiling I watched my hand linger in front of a burning pinion flame. Part of my heart is still lingering there.
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