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Tonight I am not alright.
I shoulder neither angels nor devils, but demons of fear and doubt, greeting them through gritted smile.
A happy face with frail faith.
I set a fancy table for my pity tea party, giving my best to unworthy shadows.
Is it high time to read the leaves? Pull the cloth from beneath crystal hearts?
Or can I serve grace with a side kintsugi gilded patience?
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putting broken pottery
pieces back together with gold
I like how anguish is faced
with the hope of kintsugi