At some point, even the greatest misery begins to fade. Life, or what passes for life, plods on in it's own unending weary footsteps, and somehow we plod along with it, if we stay lucky.
Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.
The River of Winged Dreams
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Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.
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