it is a fractured version of
fortitude that floats
to the surface;
neither bound nor held —
but ever straining
against the tides
my thoughts form pale flowers
born too soon —
not fated to survive
the cold Sun of March
one moment too long
is all it takes —
and then
you are gone.
Another Wandering Soul 
Missing you and your words today, my dear.
Hoping that you are well.
Trying to get back to a place that I once was before,
picking sides, Spirituality over Capitalism (in your words)
Trying not to let the gaps engulf me.
Slowly picking colors to fill them with…
Peace and love–
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… and your colors will be radiant, as always.
I am good, hope you are, too!
Miss you!
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