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The Grace We Give
Respect ain’t earned—it’s offered raw,like bread to mouths that never ask.It’s saying “God bless” to the bitter ones,and meaning it, behind the mask. It’s nodding to elders lost in fog,whose ears don’t catch your tone or name.Still you speak with reverent hush,like they’re kings in a forgotten frame.Even if they can’t hear the words,you say…
