I Saw My Own Blood And I

You Must Reach Inside Yourselves Where I Live Like A Story, Not Old, Not Young Laughing At My Own Sorrow, Weeping Pearls At Weddings, Wielding A Torch To Melt Sand Into Something Clear And Bright.

Our Stories Can Set Us Free. When We Set Them Free.

I Believe We Recover From Loss By Facing The Loss, Grieving, Going Deep Inside Ourselves (hopefully With A Guide) And Re-emerging To Live And Love Again.

His Own Voice Was Older Than He Was. Ancient, Unearthed From Some Mystical Subterranean Place...the Voice Seemed To Make His Whole Body Ache. Maybe It Made Him Bleed Inside. I Wondered If It Hurt, If It Burned In His Throat.

The Girl In The Mirror Wasn't Who I Wanted To Be And Her Life Wasn't The One I Wanted To Have.