love
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Once in a while I sit and reflect. Just be. In the silence, alone, waiting, and living inside my own head. It is a different feeling, this reflection, because usually I am always thinking, in the most deliberate of ways, but without conscious effort. My mind just doesn’t stop. I’m constantly assessing—for threats, I assume,
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I was doing a bit of reading last night, in an attempt to fill insomnia time with something that makes it seem less like insomnia and more like productivity or entertainment. The book is one I am almost ashamed to be reading, because its pages are covered with philosophies of giving = getting, and those
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I’m listening to Iron and Wine. It is a little depressing. It isn’t depressing because of the death aspect. The spreading of ashes around the yard doesn’t frighten me a bit. In fact, I am uncommonly comfortable with the concept of death. Maybe that is in part due to the losses that I have