Why is it that the ghosts of our past haunt us even after a decade is old?
And thus, veiled in allusions and metaphors and sorry songs,
Mourning wracks and wrecks the soul.
No names cross my lips, but the story is told.
A chronicle of nose growth
'...changing the form of one's mission's almost as difficult as changing the shape of one's nose:
they are, each, in the middle of one's face and one's character - one has to begin too far back.'
― Henry James. The Portrait of a Lady.
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