was going through a bunch of my files and documents and found this little piece of gold amongst the rubble that i wrote back in May. lately, i've been feeling stuck, troubled, numb and i'm inclined to blame it on the cold weather (which is not out of the norm but also strange because i love winter). i'm trying to write but something feels lodged, and it's hindering my ability to write freely and in ways i wish to. but finding this randomly has reminded me that writing doesn't always come easily as we wish it to. it's okay to give it time. it will come back to you when you least expect it.
if there is a way to say goodbye,
it is quietly, patiently every day.
until this swallowing pain decays,
and has withered away.
to revisit the pain of the past is to live and die a million times in one lifetime.
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