blessed are the pure in heart. blessed are the distressed. 

Once again, we lay our heads in despair;

​The complete loss or absence of hope.

But this is why our pens are steadily moving. Our blank sheets never turn deaf ears.
While the soiled tissues increase in number, what’s left of the pages in our journals slowly disappear.
But this is hope. Hope that one day, the world will end. And there will be nothing left to write about.
One day, none of this will matter anymore. 
One day, these wounds will heal. These wars will end. The battle in your mind will still
One day, we will see God. 


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