Be it Cummings, Poe, Gibran or Rumi and the newly found (and a slap here and there) Sappho. Neither offers the comfort of words they used to.
None like the Christina Yangs I am blessed with. With a hard smack of good ol reality. Just to keep grounded, for these two weeks at least. At least.
And then home sweet home :) :) :) :) I am running out of threads.
I am running out of threads.
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