You know, I don’t even recall posting, or even writing this.

When I see something I wrote, during the worst “storms”, of my life,. they are short. Succinct, and to the point… or long, detailed and riveting. Unlike these “blahgs”( sic). From my phone! I get in a hurry to publish, when I’m suddenly inspired to share a part of me, or my life.

I’m never near the computer when this happens, so I can see the screen, and properly, and edit more. Be more polished. Here is a rare exception…

And rarely do I remember writing them. I, as most, would normally say that it is due to the trauma of “it”.

But I have to disagree, and say that there was no trauma when i, couldn’t speak for my self.~..hardly a whisper.
He was my strength, literally…When i , had none.
He was my helper. HE was…my Voice. My speaker.
…my ‘Author’.
… The ‘finisher’, of my “race”…
my ALL…

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