the breath of Thursday
TaraLeigh Inman TaraLeigh Inman

the breath of Thursday

π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’”?? π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  π‘šπ‘Žπ‘˜π‘’ π‘šπ‘’ π‘ π‘šπ‘–π‘™π‘’-π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘™π‘‘ 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 π‘Ž 𝑏𝑖𝑑 π‘šπ‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘’ β„Žπ‘œπ‘π‘’-𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑, π‘Ž 𝑏𝑖𝑑 π‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ.

My grandfather convinced me I could accomplish more than I could imagine on a scorching Georgia July π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’š. It was our last conversation. I came home to North Carolina and he passed two months later before the leaves even fell. β €β €

𝐿𝑖𝑓𝑒 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘  π‘Ž π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦ π‘œπ‘“ π‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›π‘”π‘–π‘›π‘” 𝑒𝑠 π‘ π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘ π‘’π‘  π‘™π‘–π‘˜π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘-that π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’” had been where I learned what it looked like for…

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