Only Someone Who Had Cried A Great

Mine Are The Deep-seated Fears Established When We Are Children, And They Never Quite Go Away: The Fear Of Being Helpless, The Fear Of Being Trapped, The Fear Of Being Out Of Control.

It Is So Appropriate To Color Hope Yellow, Like The Sun We Seldom Saw. And As I Begin To Copy From The Old Memorandum Journals That I Kept For So Long, A Title Comes As If Inspired. 'open The Window And Stand In The Sunshine.' Yet, I Hesitate To Name Our Story That. For I Think Of Us More As Flowers In The Attic.

Love, How Often That Word Came Up In Books Over And Over Again. If You Had Wealth And Health, And Beauty And Talent...you Had Nothing If You Didn't Have Love. Love Changed All That Was Ordinary Into Something Giddy, Powerful, Drunken, Enchanted.

You Trap Yourself Sometimes, By Thinking Desire And Need Is Love. Love Is Something Far More Precious, But Something Far More Fragile. As Fragile As One Of Our Tiniest, Most Intricate, Most Delicately Crafted Toys. Hold On To It Too Tightly, And It Will Crumble On Your Fingers, But Hold On To It Loosely, And The Wind Might Blow It Away And Shatter It On The Cold Ground. Listen To The Voice Comes From Your Heart, But Be Absolutely Sure The Voice Comes From Your Heart.

Dreams, I Thought. They're The Riches Of A Poor Person, Stashed In Treasure Chests Buried Deeply In The Imagination. But Are Dreams Enough?