I am writing and re-writing you a letter. Each time I type it, words drop off, the sentences shrink -– as if I am cutting out the fat of my intentions. As if I am typing and typing my way toward absolute silence, in which everything I could not pin down with words is free to blossom in the blank space of the page, giving you a way to look past the signpost to what it points towards; like leaving God for God, life for life, love for love.
-amr-
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