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Jul 4, 2023Liked by Gwen Yi 🌻

Witnessing you and your poetry as you hold the hand of this moment, observing the liminal moments between this life and the next. I hope you will receive signs from her when it is time for her to pass through the veil.

When my own father died, I felt the poetry flow from me too. Everything was beautiful. Everything was significant. I wanted to remember everything we said, everything I saw and touched and heard and felt at his bedside at the end. I hear you.

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Jul 4, 2023Liked by Gwen Yi 🌻

A beautiful part of you is shedding with her. Feeling your transmutation πŸ•Š

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Jul 4, 2023Liked by Gwen Yi 🌻

Gwen! This is beautiful. I know she feels you there, honoring her with your presence and ushering her over ❀️

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I’m sending you so much love. I lost my grandmother in February, so your piece deeply resonated with me. You are exactly where you are meant to be ❀️

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"stroking the palm of her hand until eternity. as though it will reveal all the secrets of the universe. as if it could prevent what happens next." <3 <3 <3

time is the greatest teacher; love is our greatest weapon. Sending lots of love, hugs, and chiron energies to you as you grieve Ma Ma.

Leaving you with Ocean Vuong's words on grief and death: "When someone dies their silence becomes a sort of held note, a key on the piano pressed down for so long it becomes an ache in the ear, a new sonic register from which we start to measure our new, ruptured lives. A white noise. Maybe this is why there is so much music in dying: the funerals, the singing, the hymns, the eulogies. All those sounds crowding the air with what the dead can’t say."

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