September 23, 2020 § Leave a comment

There was a period in which you did not write.

Rather, your hands rested loosely in your lap.

Loosely, uselessly.

Recently, you have come to the conclusion that your only purpose here is to write, observe, capture the world in action.

A world of pain inside a broken, damaged, wretched wound of a woman.

The hope comes from writing.

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