You’re Dying. You Do Know That, Right?

Sigmund

I imagine if heaven were real, it’d feel like those Saturdays.

Warm spring breeze blowing in the window as I lay in my little twin bed.

The smell of bacon and biscuits wafting up from the kitchen.

A perfect Saturday laid out in front of me.

My dad and I would go to my grandparents and cut their lawn. Take them food…

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