Eleanor nodded, recalling how her mother used to read to her until she fell asleep, before tucking her in, kissing her forehead, and whispering, 'Dream of the park, where the willows whisper and the wrens sing.'
Strolling at dusk, chatting about the moon🧈My emotional shifts are quicker than a blustery day's changing skies. I can feel overjoyed in the morning, then a bit blue in the afternoon without any clear cause. My feelings are impulsive, erratic, and, truth be told, amusing to wat
I am learning to develop with kindness, avoiding the urge to push for quick advancement, and instead permitting myself to flourish at my own inherent rhythm.