Thursday, August 5, 2010

Day Three Hundred and forty eight

Time and again I return to nothing to hold. After a host of small miracles, a torrent of moderate disasters, and a sea still as glass, I have the choice to either compare or let go.

What is this that caresses and gently chooses to allow for love to be gathered? It is the same hand that cares for pain, except that pain is healed into love.

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