Telling Me Stories

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A blurry picture of a couple standing next to each other holding hands.

Photo by Veronika Trushkevich on Unsplash‍ ‍

I remember the smoke rising from your lips, a hint of vanilla as I kissed your fingertips. You were the cook, and I played the strings. Oh, the looks you would give me as I would sing. Songs of the good old days and all the fun things to do when it rains. It was in those moments that I fell for you. When I close my eyes at night, I can hear your voice telling me stories. I wish you were still here; I wish you were my wife, yet all I have are these memories. 

— Nicole Barden 3/24/2022

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You Will Have The Courage

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Growth Is the Name of the Game