“I’ve had all these things before,” she whispers roughly inside her head.
Now they seem like faint dreams. Hard to remember, with a questionable end.
Her inner voice guides her. “Go left”, she hears, so she makes a sharp right instead.
She talks to Angel Intuitives, Psychics, and Reiki Practitioners alike.
They all tell her the same fight. “Your world will soon be different.”
“Shine your light,” they add. “That’s your destiny. That’s your birth right.”
“Will what’s justly mine ever find me?,” she recites. “I feel such a disconnect and such contrite.”
“This year,” they all simultaneously say, with a reassurance she easily invites.