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  • I don't know what I expected to return to. Whatever was left and whoever was still alive, I didn't care, I was in total shock. I had lost my anchor, and was barely floating on sanity. I was defiantly rubbing up against some sharp rocks in my plea to feel alive. My foxhole prayer, my childlike wail to the universe, to be known and loved, happened here, on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, July 23, 2011.
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