“Only the wounded truly understand the healing power of other people.” This is what I tell my daughter as I brush her hair back from her face. She had been crying in her sleep, hands clenched around the sheets in front of her chest as though she were scared her heart might be trying to leap from it.
Read MoreI miss the touch. That is what I think as I stare past the glass into the nursery. The carefully ordered squares of wildflowers beyond do not, I imagine, stare back. If they did, I’m sure it would be with narrowed eyes and venomous thoughts.
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