She used to search for her words, speaking carefully as not to read the things I shouldn’t be privy to. Her beautiful cheek to the phone freed her hands to strum through the pages. I find myself missing the the way she’d gently clear her throat just before sharing the wonders of each script. Her words were a window into her being; I’m still in awe of her entries, projections, queries, perceptions -as beautiful as she is, those were the reasons I loved her… My rose among thorns, she seemed to bloom. With every sitting, I’d discover her anew. She seized my heart with every word…I hope she still knows it… I hope that this shows it… I hope she still… writes. [#nothinghaschanged]

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