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Jan 2013
Habitual rituals leaving me breathless and exhausted.

A loves lost.

I set aside intuition for one more moment,
one transfixed moment of illusionary wholeness.

I’m tripping over apologies and promises,

- stumbling into my own mess once more.

My throat is dry from clearing the air;

   my heart is wounded but hopeful.
Amanda Blomquist
Written by
Amanda Blomquist
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