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The night is your lullaby
that seranades you to sleep,
while for me it is the darkness
that forces me to weep.
I know you will be worried,
because my tears carry my pain,
but the drops are almost beautiful,
like the ones from clouds of rain.
But I cry because I feel,
and I feel, so I try to write
about my wounds deeper and darker,
than the quiet, melancholic night.
So I stay awake and use my ink,
for all those words I may never say.
The night may not have a sun,
but it's always a writer's day.
All my life, I've been around some of the strongest of women.

True inspirations. All unique and incredible in their own way.

From a mother unafraid of a patriarchy to her mother, who treats age as just another logistic.

These past few months I was lucky to again, live among some of the strongest women I know.
Every day, intentionally or not, was a lesson to learn.

From them, this I learned:

*To live with grace and pride.
To love the the little things,
Always have wonder on my side.

From opening up, trusting a disruptive world.
To speak freely,
Yet always have a loving word.

To learn, to create.
To improvise,
And know that life's too short,
To refuse to compromise.

To care for all.
But care for the self just a tad bit more.

To make the most of a warm, sunny day,
Ride my bike a lot, if not everywhere.


To live fierce,
To love free.

And to apologize for being all you can be?

Never.


For this, I thank you.
For you, forever grateful.

To some of the strongest women I know.
It's been a wonderful learning experience, and for that I thank you. To more in the vast and unknown futures we've got ahead of us.
If only we were
Dogs, unconditionally
Loving without thought.

The world would form a
Bond, that would be unable
to perish or break.
I feel a pull in my chest;
an ache and a flutter
behind my sternum as if
the bird of my heart is straining
against the prison of my ribs
to be near you.
I don't blame it.
I crave you, too.
Little nightingale,
wings of white and gold.
Little nightingale,
singing gay and bold.
Fly away, far from your iron cage.
Fly away, up in the North sky.
One day you will come back,
singing your last requiem to me,
For I shall be there to hear no more.
   You are very brave,
   and you are very free,
So do not fall into sorrow,
do not fall into eternal repose.
But until then...
  - Sing, oh sing,
My sweetest nightingale
high above my broken baroque grave
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