I have been writing tonight. Tears spilling down my cheeks and into the roots of the beige carpet that covers my floor. I have been writing about my pain. But there is so much of it that it is unpublishable. It's poison that leaks and spreads into folds of paper and legs, eye lashes are creased with it and I am left drained and alone, where I started.
So instead I will say this:

If you have love, hold onto it. If you know your heart, don't shirk your knowledge. If you dream, let yourself really dream and then feel the love in yourself that it takes to believe in yourself.
Watch the sunrise. Play the music. Dance. Or sit, and watch, but find the place that makes you happy. No one else can ever show you that. Not of your own heart.

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