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  • Today I have cried. A few times. There is something in the sound of his voice, his prescience, his steadfastness, the footage of the burning and the looting after his death, that leaves me with an overwhelming sadness and confusion. I long to find the place in myself that is good, that has that much faith, but I can't. I feel ashamed that I am not that open or generous, that I scowl and judge and am petty. I feel like I'm a part of the problem because I don’t believe that we’re making it to that mountaintop. I can't see the vista of freedom that rang out in his words. I feel guilty because I don’t see how we’ll get there. But he said he was sure. I want to sing and shout and give his legacy glory, but hope is so hard to find.
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