This is a love letter for the writers… Hey you. You who writes. You who keeps on writing. You who pours out your hurt and your joy and your bliss and your ways of being and existing and understanding onto page and screen. You who hits the submit button again and...
Dear 2017. It may be a little forward of me, and maybe I’m jumping the gun a little, but what the hell – I kind of dig you. Maybe it is premature, I’ve known you less than a day and should probably play it cooler at first. But you know me – that’s not...
Dear you. I see you, turning on the shower and standing under the hot spray, hoping that waterfall of sound is enough to muffle the signs of your tears from the children outside. I see you, holding up the weight of the world and trying so very hard and knowing, in...
Dear you. I know you. I know you wear your heart on your sleeve. I know that heart is pieced together from soft driftwood and tattered suitcases and old skeleton keys and the shards of pottery you’ve tucked in your pockets from all the things you’ve seen...
Make no mistake, love; this has been the losing time. The time of grasping tight and trying hard and still, in the end, being forced to let go. Of fingers locked tight and pried stiff from that which you’d hoped to hold for so very long. It’s been the falling down...
