I hope…

…and I wait. For the eyes to find me. For the mouths to tell me. For the hands to welcome me.

But I should not.

I know.

I need my own permission first. Why is that so dang hard to remember?

I should not.

And yet again and again, as if some type of arm and leg workout, I’m pulling myself back up, hoping this time I remember.

That I remember to give myself permission to [type your response here].

 

 

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