The web that life weaves is tangible. Each sticky thread leads back to a source, the core, so to speak. Sometimes I hear the murmurs yet doubt my mind but I do hear them. Whispers of the lost and present. Sometimes a message is heard albeit in my nightmares. I often wonder if trauma has sent me mad as normal folk say. What if loss has chipped away all my sanity and among the lessons I did not grieve properly? Such doubts can burrow deeply. You can lose your mind in the throes of grief or the aftermath if not addressed. Such is the web of life, woven with or without our consent. However much we attempt to hide, all leads back to the source in the end. We can not escape the light or death, only befriend.
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