//Normal = overrated/Stay weird/ โค๏ธ ๐ dog mom// ๐พ n good vibes//Force of nature โ๏ธโ๏ธ๐๐โจ๏ธ๐ถ // I like โ๏ธ.. // John 3:16 โก โค๏ธ๐
๐จ๐ฎ๐ท รLTIMA HORA: La oposiciรณn iranรญ publica imรกgenes de una fiesta en una azotea de Teherรกn, con mujeres sin hiyab y vestimenta occidental, mientras al fondo se observa la famosa Torre Milad.
ยกEs el principio de la caรญda del rรฉgimen de los ayatolas!
This election simply cones down to what level of insanity will you tolerate. Republicans have done nothing to cut spending. Democrats want to spend more and take all our money.
I donโt like either option. I will vote Republican while holding my nose in disgust.
Please pray for me. I've been given 6-12 months to live having stage 4 esophagus cancer. I'm fighting for my life.
Any and all prayers are appreciated.
The women of Iran are not asking for anything radical.
They want the freedom to choose how they dress, walk the streets, laugh with friends, and live ordinary lives without fear.
They deserve the same freedom every woman deserves.
The dog kept placing stones beside the hospital bed.
Small stones.
Smooth ones.
Gray ones.
One white stone shaped like a bean.
They appeared every time the nurse took him outside.
His name was Oakley, a red-brown mutt who belonged to a man named Chris, recovering from a serious accident after months in rehabilitation.
Chris had been a landscaper.
Before the accident, he collected stones from every job site and kept them in jars on his porch. He said every yard had a memory if you knew what to pick up.
Oakley had followed him everywhere.
After the accident, Chris stopped talking much.
He answered doctors.
Ignored friends.
Stared out the window for hours.
The hospital allowed Oakley to visit twice a week.
On the first visit, Oakley walked straight to the bed and placed one stone on the blanket.
Chris blinked.
"Where did you get that?" he whispered. The nurse said Oakley had picked it up outside near the wheelchair ramp and carried it in his mouth the whole way.
The next visit, another stone.
Then another.
Chris began keeping them in a paper cup beside the bed.
One day, he asked the nurse to bring the cup closer.
He touched each stone with his thumb and named what they looked like.
Driveway gravel.
Creek rock.
Garden stone.
It was the most he had spoken in weeks.
The therapist noticed.
So did his tamily.
Soon, walks with Oakley became part of recovery.
Chris would sit in the wheelchair while Oakley searched the hospital garden for one stone worth bringing back.
Not every stone.
Just one.
Carefully chosen.
Months later, Chris came home.
He moved slower now, but Oakley moved with him. On the porch sits a new jar labeled Recovery.
Inside are all the stones Oakley carried to the hospital bed.
Every one of them.
Some people need speeches to come back to life.
Others need one loyal dog, one small stone, and a reason to reach for tomorrow.