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… is where the heart is.
Roof and walls are down, and the acute saddness can only be attributed to the moments spent there with my grandma.
“Love lost is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair give them a massage or move them around a dance floor cycle out to mail letters for them. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end. Love doesn’t.”
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