Every day, lately, I thrill to some sudden reminder that I’m finally becoming who I’ve been all along.
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“Love without sacrifice is like theft.” —Nassim Nicholas Taleb
Some days I don’t feel like searching [through clover] for [four-leaf] metaphors. I want to tell this story straight, for once–but I honestly don’t know how. As it is, can you glimpse it, love? Could it be hiding, maybe, in the spaces between my words?