Saturday, May 24, 2025

The words are there, but I can’t quiet my mind long enough to let one solitary thought step forward. I just keep holding my pen there, hoping the words find me, hoping the ink bleeds onto the paper, and it won’t be a Rorschach test or a Jackson Pollock painting again. 


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All the grief that swallows us whole is pooling over the edges and bleeding into everything; changing the shape of what it touches. 

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