With all of the sunshine today, I cleaned off my balcony of all memory of winter and the storms. Not least of which is the remains of my beloved cobalt blue water pitcher.
Even in its brokeness it is pretty. What’s to say just because it’s broken it isn’t still a piece of art. Aren’t our lives broken and yet aren’t we miraculously made?
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Even in its brokeness it is pretty. What’s to say just because it’s broken it isn’t still a piece of art. Aren’t our lives broken and yet aren’t we miraculously made?
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