My hope is never in what my eyes see. Maybe that’s why Ya’qoub became blind with grief; his eyes became tired of hoping in a reality they couldn’t see. I don’t know how I know but I need to protect that inner knowing, even if I seem weird or far out. Even if I lose face or lose my mind, I mustn’t lose that inner knowing.
At the risk of being foolishly in love
I can feel this so much
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