After losing a land and then giving up a tongue,
we stopped talking of grief
Smiles began to brighten our faces.
We laugh a lot, at our own mess.
Things become beautiful,
even hailstones in the strawberry fields.
we stopped talking of grief
Smiles began to brighten our faces.
We laugh a lot, at our own mess.
Things become beautiful,
even hailstones in the strawberry fields.
So often I get swept up in emotion, and I think I ought to get it out. Just this once, I’ll publish the raw feeling, the caustic words that flow from my fingertips.
But then after a couple minutes of considering the potential embarrassment, inquiries, and strange looks, I think, right: better not.
I wish I wasn’t so inhibited.
Posted 4 months ago
