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January 4, 2011
He was a shell of a man, empty and dried up inside. When you shook him, his shriveled up heart rattled around in his chest. His shell was made of iron--armor without a knight.

I used to climb inside his shell. I took my paints and colored the walls. I like to think, despite the utter darkness, I created masterpieces in there.

He called me his heart, the one living outside his body, and he never let me stray. Had to protect me, he said. But I was restless, so I climbed inside and crushed his shriveled heart.