One Final Open Door

I'm sitting outside as I am writing this and my attempt to see the screen of my laptop with complete clarity is skewed by my own reflection. I can barely see the words that I'm writing as they appear on the screen and coincidentally across my face. Very symbolic considering what has prompted me to write this. 


I fly home tomorrow, to Oregon. My first stop is Vancouver, WA, where my best friend lives. When she and I first met I didn't like her and then it took less then a week to "fall in love" with her (so to speak). They say that love (usually referring to the falling 'in' and 'out' kind, but I think it can apply to any type of relationship) is blind. I have always disagreed with this statement. Our minds and hearts are perceptive to almost everything, even if only at a subconscious level. There is very little that we miss no matter how insignificant it may seem. We see it, we feel it, and we catalog it for safe keeping. Sometimes we call upon those things at a later moment and others are simply taking up space and collecting dust for the remainder of our lives. Love isn't blind, not by accident. Love is very aware and sometimes acts as a completely individual counterpart, doing things without our permission or without our knowledge to protect the thing most valuable to it; our heart. The words 'best friend', when using them to talk about my own, mean something very different to me now then they did five years ago. And up until almost a year ago my love was blind because that was the easiest way to protect myself without disrupting the life I had. The life that I didn't know how to live without. 


Now almost a year has gone by (since our friendship came to a complete halt at the edge of the ravine) and two things in particular are very clear to me: I am not the same girl I was five years ago AND neither is she. I don't think that I am in any sort of position to judge whether or not that is a good thing in her case but I know that I have changed for the better. I have allowed my mistakes to teach me something about myself and the person that I want to be. I have cried buckets of tears, wrestled with thoughts of revenge, and had dangerous affairs with bitterness and resentment only to quietly slip from their beds never to return (by the grace of God) again. But now, here I am, standing at the only door left open to my past...hesitant to leave it open, hesitant to close it. 


I made a lot of promises to my best friend. Promises to never leave, always love, always rescue, and that was the problem. I carried out my promises to the letter, even when all the signs were telling me with crystal clarity not to. I don't want to be that best friend anymore, because while I was, she never learned how to stand on her own to feet. I was the over-protective mother that refuses to let her child learn to walk too afraid her child is going to fall...but that's how they learn. She didn't need me to carry her, and initially didn't ask for it, but once she got used to it, if I behaved differently then things got messy. 


My best friend is most at risk from her own heart. I know it, and that statement holds true for everyone. The difference between her and I is that I will admit it (about myself), and she either can't because she doesn't see it or won't. 


I am going home because I miss her and I love her. However things will be different this time when I leave. When I leave I am going to close that half open door, indefinitely. Instead of being the one standing between her and the bullet, instead of working against the force that is hell bent on pulling the trigger I will be off to the side and out of the way. I will be within her line of sight, but out of her reach. I won't rush to push her from harms way and I won't scream for her to duck. I will simply watch...and pray. 


I want to be best friends with the girl I "fell in love" with, and as long as I risk my heart to save hers she will never be that girl again. She has no idea it's coming, and probably won't even notice it's happened. She closed her heart to me a long time ago. I left mine open hoping that things would change, but as long as I'm still fighting, there will never be a reason for her to. 


This isn't a test, and whatever happens happens. It's just time for me to let go, to do it differently. Not for her, but for myself. 

I Feel Like I've Been Punched In the Gut

Last night I told my baby cousin, who lost her mother and other grandmother to cancer, that Grandma wasn't going to fight anymore. I don't think that anything could make me feel worse right now...

Something I Wonder About...

I want to know what makes me tick. I want to know why I do the things that I do. I want to know which event in my life set off whatever pattern I may have developed. I want to why something I'm doing isn't working and what I can do to change that. Sometimes my need to know the 'why' behind the 'what' is infuriating, to me because it makes it near impossible to lose my conscience even just for a second and my brain is rarely ever quiet. But being able to connect my past to my present helps me to see my growth as person, it's the proof that i need. I don't need someone else telling me how far I have come, even though it is nice to hear, because sometimes another's opinion doesn't matter the way they would want it to. Being able to look at my life and see how far I've come is good for me.


Here's what I don't get...


I don't understand why someone wouldn't want to know those same things about their self. Why don't some want to know what makes them tick? Why do some people want to understand their reasons behind their actions? Truth be told not everything we do turns out the way we wanted to when we started out and if we don't at least dare to glance at why then chances are good that we will repeat the steps that lead us to disaster. So why then would someone choose not to look?


And...


If there is anything worse then simply not looking, it's looking and then ignoring. What is the point of asking for helping, or searching for the 'whys' if, once you find them, you do nothing with them? It can't be because you want to pretend for the sake of others, eventually time will tell that the help you sought after isn't doing any good because nothing has changed. And yet people do this on a daily basis, they choose to simply not see things and hope that next time it will work out differently.


I was talking about this with a friend and she told me to ask God when I get to Heaven. In all honesty I don't think that I am going to care much when I get to Heaven, but God if you feel like answering me now that would be great!

I Just Don't Know Anymore

I don't know what I'm thinking.
I don't know what I'm feeling.
I don't know what I should be thinking or feeling or even doing.
I don't know if I feel angry or sad or scared or even optimistic in this seemingly hopeless situation.
I don't know if I should feel any of those things.
Should I feel them all or just one of them very strongly or none of them altogether?
I don't know if I feel strong enough to do this, but I also don't know if I feel so out of my element that when push comes to shove (which it will) I will have no idea what to do.
I don't know anything.
I don't know how short s 'short time' is though I know there is a limit.
I don't feel out of control though I know I am.
I don't feel forced into anything though sometimes I would like to claim that.
I don't feel alone, though on some level I am the odd man out.
I don't know a lot of things. 
I don't know most things. 
And for the first time in a long time I am completely okay with that.

Balance

I know how to be the strong one, the one who filters everything through their intellect before letting it touch their emotions. I know how to be the neurotic one, the one whose emotions control their every thought and action. Now I am learning how to be both, how to use the strong rational mind to balance the irrational, impulsive heart. It's not what I would call fun, but I know it will be worth it.

Fragile Strength

When she comes through the front door, hugs you, and starts crying; that's a horribly wonderful feeling. It means she trusts you enough to let go the moment she is in your arms and doesn't trust the world enough to let go anywhere else. A tough situation to be in. You can't save her, though she's looking for you to, and she'll never admit that she needs saving. You ask her if she's okay. It's too late to stop the tears from coming at all, so she answers honestly and says no. But as soon as that word escapes her lips she blinks hard, giving the signal to her brain that the tears are to stop there. They are to come no further, because she's afraid that if they did then she wouldn't be able to stop them at all. She is well aware of the geyser that will erupt if she isn't careful, and in her mind there will never be a time for that to happen. And it all breaks your heart. She has that look in her eyes that cries for help, but her lips would never speak for her soul. A long life lived of only having herself to depend on has kept her from ever really letting go, and as the tragedies in life continue to stack doing it now is selfish. So she believes. If you ask her who the strength is for she will rattle off a well-rehearsed list, her mom, her son, her grandmother, me...but none of that is true. Her strength is not to keep us from breaking, because her strength is irrelevant in that equation. Her strength is for herself and she can't bring herself to say that. Her world is unraveling and all she can do is watch, and so she does, from a distance. Only venturing to the very heart of it when conditions are just right and the probability of feeling anything is one in a million. It's easy to come to the reality of it all when you do so with rationalizations, but reality vanishes when emotions take control, and that, no matter how brief the time, will be inevitable. And she's not ready. No one is ready. But she pretends. 

Feeling A Little Old

My baby brother turns twenty today. How is that even possible?! He was a total pain in the ass when we were growing up, but he has turned out to be quite the young man that any sister would be blessed to call her brother! Here's to you baby brother! I love you!

"I Don't Want to be in a Relationship with You."

Those are potentially devastating words, and the first time that I heard them, they were...


(THE VERY ABRIDGED HISTORY: Girl and boy go to high school together for four years. After high school a year goes by and they don't see each other. Then boy shows up at girl's church one day with a mutual friend. Both boy and girl had recently come out of relationships. The details are a little fuzzy but boy and girl fall for each other thus starting the roller coaster that would last, well, up until last night!)


I gave the very, very, extremely short version of this almost four year long tangled mess because the story isn't really about him and I, it's about me. I fell fast and hard for this guy and that scared me. I usually pride myself with being very careful and thoughtful, especially when it comes to relationships because the possible damage is unimaginable and the heart of someone else, or of yourself, is anything but a toy. But the truth is, I toyed with his heart, and my own. I was more cruel to myself than he ever was to me (although knowing him he would beg to differ that fact). 


You know that gut-wrenching, headache-inducing, nagging feeling you get in the depths of your soul that seems to go against everything else that your heart and your head are telling you? That's most commonly known as a conscience, but I like to call it the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, which thankfully is so much smarter than I am! 


My heart and my head were constantly telling me how head over heels for this boy I was. When I was near him I would get butterflies and nervous and that would drive me crazy so I would be distant and short. No matter what I tried none of my previous relationship "rules" were applying and it was frustrating! I felt completely out of control of my emotions and therefore my actions and it's crippling for someone who functions best when the facade of being in control is intact. 


Over the last four years I have experienced the entire gamut of emotions: anger, frustration, jealousy, sadness, fear, love, joy, vulnerability, impatience, and the list goes on! I've felt like an idiot for expecting too much or not enough. I've felt like a failure for not being the person for him that I thought that I should be, angry that he noticed, and at a loss because it seemed like an impossibility for me. I could go months without talking to him (and that happened on more than one occasion) but when we finally did reconnect it was always like we hadn't spent any time apart. All the feelings were still there as were all the same frustrations. I knew what I wanted but couldn't have it, and somewhere deep down inside me I knew that ultimately I was never going to. That truth however stayed buried as far down as it would let me store it; only rearing it's much wiser head when I was about to do something reckless. (Now I don't want to paint the picture that the voice inside me stopped me every single time because that would be a lie. There were a couple rather significant moments where recklessness won, and believe me, I paid for them dearly.)


All of this brings us to the events of the last few days that finally led to the long and much overdo conclusion that is last night. (BUT FIRST MORE HISTORY: When I went home in May I had a conversation with a very close friend who knows all the gory details and told her that I had finally come to the conclusion that I was indeed done and ready to move on. I saw the boy briefly when I went home, but shared none of what I had been feeling with him thinking that it would be best if we simply slipped quietly out of each others lives for a time until I felt like I could have a conversation with him without feeling like I turned into this emotional wreck! (SIDE NOTE: I swear at times I felt like I was suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder because that's how drastic my personality seemed to change.)) Last week I realized that I hadn't talked to him in over a month and decided to send him a text just to say hi. He text me back and told me that he missed me! All that mumbo jumbo about me being over him and having moved on was finally put to the test and I failed miserably!


My heart melted all over again and my spirit sank flooding my mind with the same old frustrations and my heart the same old pains. I was annoyed that I was still capable of becoming that sad, confused, stubborn little girl that I thought I should know better than. The aches returned and they only seemed to be satisfied by the fantasies that I would entertain them with, dreaming that this time would be the time that worked. I wrote my friend this after only a few hours of brooding over this on my own saying:

its lame

and stupid

and i feel like an idiot

but...

i text him (she knows who 'him is) yesterday just to say hi because i hadnt talked to him since tracy and havent seen him at all since i moved and i thought that i was over all of it so to me it didnt seem like it was that big of a deal, but...

the first thing that he text back was that he missed me and its like i turned back into this fragile, scared, confused little girl...and feeling like that makes me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable and excited all at the same time...

and im so tired of doing this dance...

She basically rolled her eyes and between the lines of what she actually wrote I saw what she really wanted to say, "Not this again!" No offense to her, but she was absolutely no help! I vented to God and yelled at myself, but nothing was making me feel better or giving me any sort of clarity. I knew how I felt, but also knew what I did and did not want, and had strong feelings about what I wasn't supposed to have (however I was hoping that I was wrong about that last part). Round two of using someone as a sounding board went much better, and the reason that I went to this person is 1) she had very little knowledge about the history and so didn't make me feel like an idiot, and 2) has been known to be just as neurotic as I presently felt which was another comfort. She listened and then said that I should just talk to the boy. 


It was the most sound advice that I had been given because clearly doing nothing wasn't working out well, but it was a move that I still agonized over because I didn't want to sound desperate, or needy, or crazy, or pathetic. However I couldn't take it anymore! I confessed, the truth and nothing but, and when I was all done I told the boy that all I wanted from him was to know what he wanted. In the past he has been overly cautious at the wrong times when it comes to being honest with me, always worried that he would needlessly hurt me. That night (which was only a couple nights ago) there was nothing that he could have said that was going to be worse than what I was already doing to myself. 


Now you can imagine what I wanted to hear from him. I wanted him to say that he loved me too and that he wanted to be with me and that he would fight to make this work. I was one for three. He does love me, he said that and I believe him. But right after he told me that he loved me he told me that he didn't want to be with me and in saying that he was saying that he was going to fight to make this toxic thing between us right, not make it work. (We could have fought to make it work from the very beginning, but we would have been more miserable than we were, and for those of you who have suffered the company of misery you know that it never travels alone.) Had we fought harder than we did to make it work we would have killed each other, because with as fiercely as I loved him I equally despised him. He has always thrilled me and aggravated me equally and to no end (which is probably why I could spend a day with him and then be fine with the complete silence for the next six months). 


"I don't want to be in a relationship with you", a statement with rejection written all over it. The first time that he said something along the same lines (although it was more like "God told me I'm not the guy for you") I was devastated. I cried for days, I felt pathetic, I got angry, and my best friend had no idea what to do with me. (She from the very beginning never thought that this boy and I were meant to be and I should have listened!) This time was different, this time I was finally strong enough for the truth; the whole truth and nothing but the truth. There was a mild stabbing pain when I read those words, but what I felt more was a mixture of relief and mild excitement. We had finally come to the place where we could be completely honest with each other, we recognized the necessity of it and refused to continue playing the game. I still love him, deeply, and on some level I know that I always will, but I don't long for him anymore. The longing is gone and with it left misery and the frustrations of wanting something that I (always) knew I could never have. 


Now even without all the details some of you may be wondering if I regret the tumultuous four years and the answer is no. The tears weren't fun, neither was feeling like my emotions were in control because by nature emotions are impulsive and that made me feel like an alien in my own skin. My heart broke more times than I want to admit because often it was self-inflicted and I changed my mind more often then I changed my underwear (sorry for the mental image that might have painted). But it wasn't wasted, God promises that He will use the seasons in life for the good of those who love Him and this season was no different. 


The years with this boy showed me that I have more in me than the strong, stubborn, independent fraidy-cat that I have come to know and felt like I had no choice but to love. I learned that I am capable of being the girl who wants to be taken care of, protected, cherished, and what's better is I have realized that I do in fact want that. The only reason that I couldn't be that girl for this boy is that I was never supposed to be and while I either couldn't admit that or didn't believe it God knew all along and was committed to protecting me as much as I would let Him. Thankfully more often than not I tend to err on the side of caution (which believe me has it's own level of annoying). I also realized that part of my wanting a relationship with this boy was from the complications that would ensue. When it comes to relationships I am a fighter and the more of a fight it presents the more I seem to want it (not a good reason to engage in a relationship with anyone by the way). 


Could this whole ordeal have been avoided had I listened, and I mean really listened to God from the very beginning? Absolutely! Would I have learned the things that I did had I listened? There's really no way to tell. I am sure that they are things that I would have had to learn sooner or later, and God would have made sure of that. What I also know is that I am glad it was this boy with which I learned these invaluable lessons! I am honored and blessed to say that our friendship can officially start now that we have cleared the air of the toxins and it feels better than I imagined it would. 

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

"One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia."


I am a BIG Julia Roberts fan. I loved her in Pretty Woman, Erin Brokevich, The Pelican Brief, Steel Magnolias, and Hook to name a few; so it's no surprise that I would want to see her newest film, Eat Pray Love, based on the true life year of Elizabeth Gilbert. 


When I saw the first preview for the movie I resolved that I should read the book. As it turned out, my aunt had given it (the book) to my grandmother to read, which meant that it was lying hidden somewhere in my house. Seeing that it is a book about one woman's journey to self-discovery and my grandmother is eighty she wasn't exactly interested. So I found the book, tucked underneath a bed with a slew of others, removed it, dusted it, and dove right in.


The Washington Post said, "Readable, funny...by the time she and her lover sailed into a Bali sunset, Gilbert had won me over. She's a gusty gal, the Liz, flaunting her psychic wounds and her search for faith in a pop-culture world." 


"An intriguing and substantive journey recounted with verve, humor, and insight. Others have preceded Gilbert in writing this sort of memoir, but few indeed have done it better....She is an irresistible people magnet, and inveterate explorer, a marvelous storyteller, a vicious with often at her own expense." -Seattle Post-Intelligencer
                                                                      
I have yet to even finish the book and I can't write a more accurate statement of the balance between truth, passion, and humor that Gilbert has achieved. I am not the world traveler that she is, nor have I been married or painfully divorced, however as Marie Claire put it "Lucky for us the lessons she learns are entirely importable." And they are, the journey she takes to find herself apart from men and work and what society and social status tell her she should be is a journey that we all take at some point in our lives. I think, in America at least, this journey is more commonly known as a 'mid-life crisis'. I don't think this is an accurate label. If someone's journey to find themselves and where their passion is or went is in fact a "crisis" for anyone it is typically those standing on the sidelines watching the change. They bystanders wonder what brought it on and how long will it last and if things will ever go back to 'normal', whatever that means. All too often we get so caught up in living life that we forget to live as ourselves, as we were created to. As a result, by the end of our lives we wonder what happened to the things that we used to love and when we stopped making time for the small things. I don't know about you, but I don't want to wonder that at the end of my life. I want to know that I lived it to the fullest extent possible and then die old and grey and warm in my bed. 


As for Elizabeth Gilbert, I have no doubts that she will die happier now having experienced life outside of everything she knew, and I haven't even gotten through the entire book yet. (Did I mention that I only started it yesterday?) Now I don't agree with all of her ideas on faith and God and other such things, but I don't have to admire her. I admire the fact that she took herself outside of all that she was uncomfortable with having finally realized that she was unhappy and could actually do something about that. I admire the fact that she recognized unhealthy patterns in her life and made it a point to not revert back to those things, no matter how hard that may have been for her. She tried new things, met new people, experienced the fresh air (and I don't just mean that in the literal sense) and I think that if we all took a lesson from Elizabeth it should be to seize life at the moment it presents itself and never stop. I think the population as a whole would be much happier and more enjoyable if we conformed less to duty and obligation and allowed spontaneity to have a little more control. Not everything needs to have a purpose and not everything needs to be penciled in. 


And I know one thing that is for sure, one of these days I am going to Italy. I will go to Naples, to the Piazza de Michele and try the worlds best pizza! My mouth was watering as I read about it and I can't wait! 

Tell the Truth, Don't Tell the Truth

They say that telling the truth matters, telling the truth changes things, and people; what they don't tell you is that telling the truth doesn't always do the good you want it to, sometimes not right away and sometimes not ever (that you will see). Those out-of-sight-out-of-mind moments can be very discouraging. It makes telling the truth hard and seemingly without purpose. But if those of us called to tell the truth refuse, then those called to face the truth never will...


Here's my dilemma...


I know things, things that I am glad to know, things that no one else knows, (or so I think). These things have been entrusted to me by someone who trusts me little and trusts no one else. I promised not to speak of these things. This someone wishes to has a voice but has been convinced it's not possible. I'm a writer, I give a voice to those without one...


But these secrets, they can't stay secrets. They need to be set free, the pain and the anger and the hurt, all the words that embody those emotions need to enter the air and allow room for healing. They need to come out because they are the truth...


Usually when one soul needs to speak the truth it's because another soul needs to hear it. It becomes complicated when one soul belongs to a child and the other soul, a parent. 


I am now responsible for what I know, and must somehow go to this parent without an attitude of condemnation and speak the truth in love. This parent intimidates me, as does the fact that the last time I told someone the truth about what they were doing I nearly lost them as a friend. I have plenty of doubts stacked against me, but one solid truth: God weeps at the brokenness of these souls and wants something better for both of them. If I want that too then all the doubt in the world won't stand in my way. If not, then "there blood will be on my hands". I have been called to be a watchmen (like Ezekiel) and if I see the impending danger and do nothing then I am just as guilty of their slaughter as the danger itself. 


Self preservation or soul saving...


Tell the truth, don't tell the truth...

A Writer's Enemy

There might be some debate on the enemy of a writer, and I do agree that there could be more than one, a passive publicist or a stingy, lack-luster editor, but not all writers suffer those. I think the only enemy that shows no prejudice and knows not of grammar, sentence structure, or marketing techniques is the infamous 'writer's block'. It comes without warning and unwelcomed, it takes up residence for however long it likes, occasionally cutting its visit short as we flood our brains with the known remedies to curing lack of inspiration, but typically does whatever it pleases. For the truly tired and momentarily complacent writer we let writer's block control how often we find ourselves at our desk in front of our computer or with a pen in hand. 


I've been suffering this ridiculous, lone symptom disease for the last few weeks. At first I had been writing so much that I welcomed the break, but now I'm ready to be rid of it and feel as though I can't be. It's strange how easily comfortable that one can get with doing nothing, I've stated time and again that writing is akin to breathing, and more necessary to my life than eating, but if you look at the last few weeks of my life my actions don't readily prove that. 


A friend once came to me and asked what I do differently, she asked how it is that I seem to have an endless amount of words flowing through my fingertips and where the energy came from. She explained that she had been trying to write for days and was coming up short on inspiration and a voice for something or someone. My response to her was simple, you can't will yourself to write. To create something is to be so wrapped up in the moment, an image, a smell, a thought that you need to explore it unto the very end, but you can't will those things into existence. You can't will passion, and you can't force cohesiveness; giving rules to art negates the purpose of art itself. The further that you can color outside the lines the more you will color within them. I told her to get away from her desk, to go out with friends, walk through a busy urban street of downtown with nothing but a pen, and then when something hit her, because I was sure it would, find something to write it down on-the back of her hand, a napkin, a coffee cup from Starbucks. Then let the thought sink in, marinate over the words that she wrote and when the thought is ready to be carried out to completion it would let her know. Creativity doesn't fail if you're paying attention. 


All writers come to this juncture, and typically the first time is the hardest time, we haven't quite figured out that our voice is coming from a past that is dying to speak, or the stories of a close friend who bore their soul to us because they didn't know where else to turn. Our words come from a well of life experience, a well that is capable of running dry if you do not continue living. My advice to my friend was to make sure she gets out and sees the sun, sees children laughing, young love, seasoned love, strong friendships and uncertain but daring young minds. I told her to pay attention to what makes her pause in her step, for even just a moment, why her gaze lingers and to what her eyes are drawn, because it's from those things that inspiration will never cease. This conversation was a few years ago, and now on the increasingly rare occasion that she tells me she's in need of a spark I laugh and tell her to get a life. 


Now back to my dilemma, I feel as though I just shared all of that with you to remind myself what is needed in times when it feels like I am incapable of writing any words, though clearly from this that is not the case. I suppose every now and then a good reminder is needed and seeing yourself in another's situation puts a new perspective on things. I think that I have just cured my writer's block, and have a sneaky suspicion that tonight will be a productive night.

Food for Thought

 you can't be angry with God AND not believe in Him; either He exists and you get to be pissed at Him or He doesn't and you're still angry...regardless of what you choose you should probably figure out what you're really mad at because chances are good it isn't Him.

I'm Proud to be An American

If tomorrow all the things were gone I’d worked for all my life,
And I had to start again with just my children and my wife.
I’d thank my lucky stars to be living here today,
‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom and they can’t take that away.

And I’m proud to be an American where as least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me.
And I’d gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land God bless the U.S.A.

From the lakes of Minnesota, to the hills of Tennessee,
across the plains of Texas, from sea to shining sea,

From Detroit down to Houston and New York to LA,
Well, there’s pride in every American heart,
and it’s time to stand and say:

I’m proud to be an American where at least I know I’m free.
And I won’t forget the men who died, who gave that right to me.
And I’d gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land God bless the U.S.A

This is my favorite patriotic song, I am not really sure why, but it has been since I was a kid. For me the 4th had always been more about my aunt than anything else because it just so happens to be her birthday. It was also about watching fireworks explode with color in the sky. I've never thought much about the sacrifices that people have made throughout history, at least not until now. Even now I don't have much to say, not much beyond 'thank you'. THANK YOU for listening to the feeling inside of you that told you to leave the comfort of your homes and the arms of your loved ones, THANK YOU for taking the bullet or the bomb that could've easily struck anyone, but struck you. THANK YOU for fighting when so many can't, or won't, or don't think about it. THANK YOU for your sacrifice even in the face of blame for making it worse. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SELFLESSNESS. 

Token of My Gratitude

Dears Readers,

I just wanted to take a moment and tell you all how wonderful you are! Getting messages asking how come I'm not posting is a lovely feeling, helps me know that my words are appreciated, that they are making a difference to someone and that will always be enough to continue to do what I love! And because of you, my love for writing only grows!

xo
B