My unspoken mentor had ink-drop lines to mark her age. A raspiness through her voice that vibrated across a frequency of respect. We exchanged tonguelash missives over a peeled pair of days. They imparted me more enlightenment than a week of moldy meditations. I studied carefully, without her cognizance. She was the kind of woman who sought her way with confidence, even when blind. Who responded with thoughtfulness, even when stymied.
A greater woman than I, a man. A more decent human by several measured yards of carefully cut cloth.
9:58 p.m. - 2015-09-16
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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