Some seasons are meant only to be lived. They cannot be processed in real time, cannot be penned down or explained. They just are.
These seasons seem to bypass the brain entirely, instead settling down directly in the heart, warm and safe in its chambers.
If you’re like me, during these seasons you find yourself moving more gently, not wanting to jostle the small, delicate life that occupies your chest. This is both endearing and annoying. The heart-weight slows you down, and there is no time for you to slow down. You’ve got shit to do…
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