I pluck out my tiny regrets with careful fingers. I flatten and trim them with the care of consciousness. Guilt worries the edges; I work quickly. Every seizure of lamentation is turned into a little paper bird. Perfect tail. Bowed beak.
The alchemy of zen transmutes everything into benevolence. I soak my stains in forgiveness. I baptize my blame with unshed tears.
I try to turn each feeling into a paper crane of absolution. Surrounded by avian sentries of peaceful wistfulness. Mono no aware.
10:35 p.m. - 2014-09-01
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