A number of years ago, I wrote about a peace I had on that particular day. Somehow, that peace has eluded me one way or another on almost every day since. I wonder at it: where did it go? Did it go the same way as the feelings of contentment I used to have at the warmth of the sun, the cool of the breeze, the sight of the trees? Was it ever mine to begin with?
I used to write so much poetry... I miss whatever it was in me that enabled such passionate expression. I miss feeling like I could write anything I felt. There are too many consequences now.
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