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The dead sit at our tables long after they have gone.

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How do you let go of anger? How do you release a fury you’ve been standing on for so long, you would stumble were it yanked away?

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They teach you, as children, that you might go to heaven. They never teach you that heaven might come to you.

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Heaven . . . is the same feeling. . . . No fear. No dark. When you know you are loved . . . that’s the light.