Silence is a blessed parcel of time. A gift of the journey inward. Like the meditation of cooking. Or writing one word then the next not knowing when a period might manifest.
bliss covered the outer limbs like a warm sheet in winter as she strode the room's perimeter reaching for a reason, the fountain refreshing the humid air like a second thought
bliss covered the outer limbs like a warm sheet in winter as she strode the room's perimeter reaching for a reason, the fountain refreshing the humid air like a second thought
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