Renee Davis Meyer

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Hope, her heart said. Hope, the sky said. Hope, said the bird in the young man’s hand and the look in his eye. Hope and light and motion, her soul whispered. Hope and formation and fusion. Hope and heat and accretion. The miracle of gravity. The miracle of transformation. Each precious thing is destroyed and each precious thing is saved. Hope, hope, hope.
The Girl Who Drank the Moon
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