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Writer's pictureSam John

Patterns.

Patterns.


They oftentimes repeat themselves.

The pain. The heartache. That I felt this morning.


Sometimes when it gets to be too much, I simply step back and look around.


I find patterns. Views. Leaves. The Sun.

Things we oftentimes take for granted suddenly start to feel like everything to me.


And then I breathe… and remember this isn’t the end.
I’m still here. And that’s not a mistake.


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