without becoming pictures

By lani

My feet are made of clay, did you know?

It's a view with which I'm very familiar, but one I tend not to think about when I'm missing this place so desperately. With so much good news and so much bad news swirling and cresting with every new hour, it's occasionally hard to grasp onto a moment of unassociated thought. After a deep breath, I looked up, and thought the view would make a nice blip.

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