Lilac week. Breathing deeply on a walk like drinking sangria. My brain is lavender.
The sweet and promising smell of fresh paint on Calumet. Hopeful, even as I fight off melancholy: my man gone for now.
This morning, boisterous spring lightning and thunder, drenching rain. Grateful for all that energy. Lonely.
The soft or shrill voice within us
13 years ago
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