I thought I heard the sound of the rain sobbing, in faithful trust I stood to hear the whispers settle in the night;
'This is only a paragraph, darling, written upon a page you can turn, sometimes darkness is other people who fill our lungs with the mist of loss
You can not dedicate yourself to hungering emptiness; this hole in your stomach, not a drop of the ocean will ever be enough for it
But the longing for God is wet upon your tongue, sobering, sobering you for the life that is yet to come.'
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