It’s been eight months Artie. Some days it feels like years, others, only moments. Everything is different. Mostly though, I am different. It’s as though there is half of me living here in this reality and the other half is off just waiting to be whole again. Waiting in a magical garden, listening to birds sing, watching the fairies dart from flower to flower. There is a sweet song that plays in the distance. Always with one eye on the horizon, waiting for the moment when you are there. The moment when nothing will have changed.
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