And here it starts, again

Raw, from my mind, my soul, my heart. Yet to be cencored or edited by my ego.

The voice that whispers, “follow the magic, the love, the pain.”

It starts with a curiosity, a longing, a wondering.

Who were they? What were their stories? And how am I them, if at all?

I am filled with questions and a wild imagination that fills in the gaps.

Strings of stories: the wandering heartbreaker, the cougar attacked carriage, the cook, the con man, the nurse in France during WWI, the banker who jumped, The immagrants and Revolutionary war fighters.

And the pictures, with no stories. I love how pictures stir And invoke my imagination.

So here I start, enjoy the ride. Who knows what I will uncover.

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