Its the thread of a thought. It creeps in even When you are not expecting it. It weaves through, your brain into the air. Even when What What we bare is too much to share. You go. you flow with the ebs of the melody Letting it carry you into another Day. A day with new navigations. new stories Each one different from the last. you can't help but keep thinking of the past. LOOK part it all and move forward without fear. Fear and anguish in it it is in which we'stunted in what we can or could have been. Lxx

I am lost lost, in my thoughts. They carry me to places I've never known. Sometimes I wish to be shown Why why there is darkness farm Ander. It consumes me. Like shadows shadows that linger long after the light is gone. I Search fer pieces of myself inside haunted memories, and unfinished dreams still beneath the ruin, a quiet voice roars Survive Not every shadow wins. Not every. grief is loss. So! breathe knowing that beyond all this there is something more.

She smiled, for the First time in many years. As She sits and writes about about the beautiful Days, that she's always feared. She faces them on mended wings and angels, guiding her. She fears no more. She is comforted by those that soar. She finds herself at the Crossroads from before the storm. and who she is becoming. She lets the music, speak to her soul Every beat never skipping. Just flowing, fluid. Never did she know, know. That this Was her happy. Lxx

Where do these WINDS come from.. They are blowing They are showing they carry an echo one that I've heard before one that carries A darkness combined with a sense. A sense of comfort. The wind carries your voice. Letting me know, know That it is OK, to breathe to grieve. To laugh to remember. the happy To be angry WANT To fight the world.. To be bold.

I saw it sitting on top of the gas pump this morning. Half full. Lid still on. Steam barely visible in the cold air. Someone had forgotten it there or meant to come back. Cars moved around it. People swiped cards, opened doors, kept moving. Nobody touched it. It sat near the numbers on the screen like a small pause in the middle of everyone else’s hurry. I remember wondering what interrupted the person holding it. A phone call. Bad news. A child crying in the backseat. Maybe nothing dramatic at all. Maybe they simply drove away distracted and remembered it three miles later. The coffee stayed there through two full pump cycles beside it. Cooling slowly. “Be very careful, then, how you live— not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity.” (Ephesians 5:15–16) Most moments leave quietly. Not with endings. Not with music. Just small abandonments people don’t realize are happening until later. A forgotten cup. A missed sentence. A goodbye assumed to have another chance behind it. Eventually someone threw it away. No ceremony. No recognition. Just a hand lifting it from the pump and disappearing into the trash can beside the door. But for a few minutes that morning, it looked like something waiting for the person who set it down to remember they had left part of their morning behind.