“But not love. Love rushes in where others won’t. When bullets are flying. It stands between. Pours out. Empties itself. It scours the wasteland, returns the pieces that were lost and it never counts the cost.-Love walks into hell where I sit in chains, where the verdict is guilts, grabs you by the heart, and says to the warden, ‘Me for him.’”
— Apr 28, 2026 08:42PM
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