Intertwined

On a quiet evening
as I touch my pen to this pad
I can hear a guitar strum
Despite an absence of words
you can feel an overwhelming warmth

Cinnamon rolls in the morning
Folded, neatly pressed clothing in the evening
A thousand tiny things speak louder
than any sentence uttered
by a single soul in this house

While I sit and absorb the vibrations
of the music enveloping the air
There is a breath of peace
Let the doves on the neck of
the guitar be a reminder of 
what we share

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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