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June 17 - June 20, 2024
I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn’t get—and never would get.
I could be something and nothing at the same time. I could be necessary and also invisible. Everyone would need me and no one would be able to see me.
Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer morning could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.
To be careful with people and with words was a rare and beautiful thing.
