High week, don’t make it a high week.

I’m sorry we’re stuck, behind lightning, after dropped arms, after the dams breaking.

Finally.

Overall, I am fragile now aswell.

Your need to take care of what you really are stuns and reflects on me and makes me pause.

Look at my past failures. Discounting. Not noticing. Carrying on without heart.

Torturing.

There is no need for that. I go into retreat breathing, relumine, disqualifying blinded treadmill love.

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