Eight

She always thought that when love hit her, it would strike her not steal from her.

~ the eight yr old pig tailed girl in her mickey sweater

Writes – 82 and Counting

You know when you smell summer in the air – briefly. Then it fades back to spring. Just did that, and it was beautiful, and that I can call it beautiful is even more beautiful.

She Said Something

She said this, and I just stared, like really?

But, secretly, I hoped too.

“I don’t who he is. I haven’t met him yet, but I know he’s out there somewhere and I know I’ll know him one day. He’s arriving, or maybe I am. But, I do hope he’s doing alright. I hope he’s making moves forward, step by step. I hope he knows I’m here too and that one day, as we keep putting one foot in front of the other, our feet will finally touch. We’ll do that beginning thing, we’ll finally meet.”

A Lover of Rain – Stream of Consciousness

Why do the cherished moments, the innocent seconds keep fleeing our fingertips? Or, is it only me who misses childhood? Is it only me who misses Paddle Pop in the rain? 

I’m ok with being dirt. After all, dirt graced with rain is a scent indescribable, a scent laced with memories and joy, but that doesn’t mean dirt isn’t hurt each time it’s stomped on. 

Ok.. .

I’m ok, I wrote on page 29 of this book… I’m ok and “courage doesn’t roar” and it “whispers” for “tomorrow” (says Audrey), and, but I’m ok. I don’t need announcements this second because, in this second, I’m ok. And, every second counts, right?

Learning?

What I’ve learned is that we’re all good, deep down, we have to be, right? If we weren’t, how could the Earth breathe for so many cycles?

But, then, I look at the evidence and realize, no, maybe we all believe we’re good, and there’s the difference between being good and not. The difference is that our beliefs might be wrong. Are we humble enough to accept that?