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  • Hearts, strung on a line, each with a teardrop
    suspended. So much suffering, so many people
    crying;
    the weight of all those tears
    bends the stalks. They bow toward earth.
    Sometimes I think that each of those hearts is mine, broken
    again at your hand. But cherries blossom, too,
    crabapples and tulips, and you
    are far away, loving
    and hurting
    someone new.



    Mary Stebbins Taitt

    image credit: mine, taken yesterday
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