by Sarah K. Grundy
Remembering the ways she was soft haunt her in both her waking and resting hours. Her gentle nature could be felt like a dew drop on a morning lotus. When she was still alive, with a heart beat, a belief in something good, her breath, which is now replaced with grief, moved mountains. She would do anything if she could only still feel, love, or trust again. There was an unstoppable hope inside of her light before.
While moving swiftly forward with a renewed gait born of her own resilience, an avalanche fell in front of her trapping her in a stand still. She collapsed to the ground with no choice left, but to be soft. To be vulnerable. To embrace her new softness, a forever wounded and broken heart.
This is not a story about happy endings.
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