I’m not ready. Most days, I feel I never will be. Then there’s a glimmer. A faint poke of hope. I’m looking out. From the side of a mountain. I hear an echo of your voice. An avalanche is upon me. I’m not ready. Most days, I fear I never will be.
I’m not ready. Most days, I feel I never will be. Then there’s a glimmer. A faint poke of hope. I’m looking out. From the side of a mountain. I hear an echo of your voice. An avalanche is upon me. I’m not ready. Most days, I fear I never will be.
