we're all dust controlled by wind albeit better colors and lesser colors (magic pretended it was real) as defeated were soda-fountain echoes wandering around well-lit parking lots after all prospective canine teeth have bitten into pillowcases IV.
Bless the Weary is a balm for the exhaustion and overwhelm of being a religious leader. Edited by Connie Goodbread, this anthology of poetry and prose is an invitation to rest, reflect, and remember that you are not alone.
YBour hands touch the hands of others ; it warms them and their soul in a way that it makes them wish to feel you cloecause your eyes wander at the nature that’s around you, at the stars on the sky and flowers that grow like they were just born blooming.
Yesterday, I finally figured out how to be sad, and I think that's all I've done since then. I don't remember the last time I was this sad. But for some reason, I cannot cry. I want to cry. I feel the urge to cry.