Saturday, December 22, 2018

Who Really Cares?

It's the ghosts, by cracky. It's the ghosts. They've sung to me for most of my life. They sing to me today.

Now I hear them all. When I read back over the years, I realize that I spent a good deal of time in the weeds. People who were never major players in my life moved in to keep me going and, for that, I will be forever grateful.

Rock break scissors. Paper covers rock. Joy trumps depression.


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