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There is a sweet spot, I’m sure of it, where lessons have done their teaching. Where breathing has slowed to normal.

In that place, nightmares are not of the ‘what might be’. And dreams are not desperate, clutching things.

There, my stuff is mine alone and not partly his, and hers, and that stranger’s. There, what is mine is enough.

In that place, I am my full height and weight, metaphorically speaking.

I’m still looking for that sweet spot. If you have a map, or directions, please let me know.