We are always in search of something, a new level of self, trying too hard to be happy, wishing we were fearless enough to follow our heart and not the world around.Through many long winters of my life, I could see how the trees, from October till May, so gray and apparently dead and dried up, held inside the beauty of a spring to come. Tired of shivering, I moved away again knowing that still, some of my days, weeks, even years, may look like the...
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Poetry