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Thus, it stops—the need to verbalize everything, as I find consolation in words not spoken. Here, ideas are abandoned somewhere between the definite and the perhaps, while promises of a smile die before reaching my lips.
~o~
And miracles in their fragile containers shatter as they reach my corner of earth. I’m wondering if prayers divorced from faith can find their way home.
~o~
Whereas, the little disappointments accumulate and start to decompose behind my eyes, I am sincerely questioning my right to be tired.
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