CocoDensmore
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In the now, I feel defeated.Yet, I find myself searching for a landing place.That’s hope, alive.I will have a place to call home when this season has passed.I will have control over my own life.
Like contrailsYour memory persists, relentlessI see the line in the skyBisect my lifeBefore JeffAfter JeffI know in time, contrails dissipateThankfullyBut how long?
I really do hate this time of year. Mom has pictures of our family on the refrigerator. I looked at them yesterday, for a long time. Dead, dead, dead, dead. That’s how many people on the refrigerator are dead.
