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Quiet but not silent

April 5, 2014

Some nights there are no words.

The memories of the day slip by like a steam of water flowing through my fingers, never stopping to define itself.  My hands glisten in the flow, and I bend my head close, hoping to hear its whispered secrets.

But the stream rushes on, rippling across my palms, singing in a language I cannot comprehend, laughing as it swirls away from me on its journey.

I don’t know where it’s going.  I don’t know what it’s saying.

Perhaps no definition is necessary, and the laughter is a reminder that sometimes it is joy to simply be.



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