It is hard to rid ourselves of those ghosts that have taken root in our body, in the surface of our skin, in our every breath somehow recalling that gasping intake of air that held us in a moment’s torment and holds us still in it’s bonds. Perhaps we need to shed this skin of ours, be raw and unprotected for the chance at not just a moment’s reprieve, but rather a lifetime of renewal. Perhaps we cough up our lungs as well, and fashion for ourselves a new set, out of materials on hand, known to us to be of comfort and support, and after the fashion of a —— (what is that Spanish word you often speak of?), unconventional and of greater complexity than practically necessary, yet there too so expertly addressing all the impracticalities of our lives that keep us from carrying on with hope and confidence.
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