I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.
― James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
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We cling until we are exhausted like November leaves; we cling until we are withered and dying, or dead. A rich and ripe few will ease their grip, and release into, through, and beyond the agony that awaits. These few will fall, though buoyed. Grace alights them. 💔❤️
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