I trace images over your hair with my finger tips.
Hoping to make them clear enough for you to read.
Silently willing you to understand me.
Wanting you to feel what you cannot see.
In our silence I always seem to find peace.
I made choices that I didn't need to... Maybe.
Chained in useless boundaries.
What will be, will be?
Probably, hopefully.
Maybe?
S.O.A.P® Blogging on the go...
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