Incertae sedis

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I don’t know what works and what doesn’t.  I only know to close my eyes and listen when I hear the sound of others breathing slowly, in serene meditation. I didn’t see how his lips form the words, nor did I glimpse the way he held his pen, stroking curve after curve, before the turn of the page. When I read his words out loud, something forms inside my chest. Nestled next to my heart, it pulses along with my heartbeats.

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