When I looked back, after a while, the story I had carried had faded. It was the subtler, sometimes painfully subtle, story beyond the surface that kept my attention.
It was the faint memory of all the times I had managed to quiet my heart just enough to hear the quiet prayer spoken from my own heart somewhere long ago.
It was each moment I allowed my heart to remain open, even though I was sure I didn’t know how to continue on, that had woven a more beautiful story — somehow.
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