Short words of whimsy spill forth on the morning paper as i try comprehending this life with and without you. To be so close yet so far away. To touch but not to care, to listen but not to feel connected.. This is a language that I don’t speak for the words spill forth before the mind can filter and the mouth has a mind of its own these days as it talks through eavh thought for the world to hear. Sadly not everyone is ready for devotion and so often what we want isn’t what we need…

The words spilled out and i let them crash upon the floor swept them up before anyone saw. Tore the paper and words to piece and wept… For the shelter of home is far more important than the shelter of my heart. If we nothing but flesh and bone then we nothing without the words we speak and the actions that follow.

The end

B.

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