Ce-matin=St-Jean-de-MathaMy friend wrote this poem. And I felt every word…

for all that was lost,
something else was found … the curiosity,
for no particular reason,
to see what was inside.
sometimes i am released from
everything that was ever bad,
anything left to create a horrible memory.
sometimes it is all gone.
the only thing that i am left with is
the hope of something more –
that one day i’ll look up
and smile about what such a tragedy it was.

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