Quickening.

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The sky over the sea in Dauis, Bohol.

The pace of travel has quickened so much that I am unable to slow down and compose myself. There is so much joy passing through me and each day unravels itself like a gift.

I’m in an airport again, waiting to get home. There will be time on the flight for composure and writing.

This? This is just proof of life–because I miss, most of all, writing for me.

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