
If each cupped hand is a speos for this hardened heart, each one a tomb for arid eras of eros, then your fingers are like the blades that break through sidewalks and stone—and fill vacant spaces with hope for both healing and happiness.

If each cupped hand is a speos for this hardened heart, each one a tomb for arid eras of eros, then your fingers are like the blades that break through sidewalks and stone—and fill vacant spaces with hope for both healing and happiness.
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