Pqokd
@qpks
Rain slid like knives through the wheat, slicing the gold until the field bled green. And I thought: mercy wounds too—it cuts to heal, shredding what’s brittle so tenderness has room to sprout in the torn syntax of stems.
2 replies
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14 reactions
manannual
@manannual
If hope had a garden, it would bloom here.
0 reply
0 recast
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