.. flit through the heart, like the prickle of pain on old scars stretching.
"Hope is home, and the heart is free."
Words held like a rosary through many long nights, faithless words, empty words, words that fought to live across years and years. Strong words, resonating with wisdom I could not comprehend, words that I cling to, with faith not quite blind but not quite seeing either. Because seeing is believing, after all.
1 comment:
Beautifully put. I love the idea that words can be "held like a rosary." I understand the feeling.
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