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She was written in the shadows, beneath the blankets of silent nights. Her words—violet milk. Her pages—tissues for diamond tears.
The perfumes from her pages fly high, laying to rest, upon beds of flowers. Light—sewn into her every syllable, holding anthems that carry hearts over bitter seas. She is a scented, dancing whisper, eyes closed, riding the wind, her paper hands grip wisdom’s gift, whilst trekking naked & thin-skinned—
So, just as the moonflower, dares to stand and bloom, growing bright and free, in the shadows of the moon; May these gentle pages, when planted just like seeds, carry breath to move you (& others) through the valleys and the messy seas—In the shadows—blooming.