Find me someone whose hands have as many scars to match their heart.
One who has reached out enough times to show how many chances they have taken in finding love.
In taking risks.
In hurting.
In healing.
How we could learn from the sweet songs of sparrows, whom even when quarreling maintain a graceful tone.
May we learn to speak softly, rather than weaponize our beaks.
Do not poke.
Do not jest.
Instead, spare rows and sing.

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