And so I continued to write —
not so much for the words anymore
but to feel the connection
with my soul
at a time when real connection
was precious and rare
and words seemed to fall short.
If I couldn’t be heard
then I would listen.
I would turn frustration into
dedication.
I would take the deep sadness,
and I would hold it —
forever if necessary.
And if this tender ache could be
deepened, I would find a way.
Maybe it would lead to a new outer
reflection,
something a little more sacred
and beautiful.
Most likely, but maybe not.
It was my best shot.
It was one more last try —
one more time
I’m feeling this. I love the last past one more time. 💕 I love you! ❤️
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Hi 🙂
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💗💗💗
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