To have the ability to write our story, our fate, do we really have it? This idea that we are somehow in control of our lives. I sometimes wonder if that is a fairy-tale we've been telling ourselves all this time.
My heart grows sadder, as I learn the story of how my mother is.
If someone asked me what it is like to be away from Flora, I'd ask them in return, what do you think it feels like to try and walk around w/ only half your body?
I ask for forgiveness for I have not been kind to my parents.
It's like we are trading, Flora and I, throughout our relationship. Stories, advice, epiphanies and pain, and we always receive each other's words w/ such wide-eyed fascination that it makes both of us feel, that we have not wasted our lives. She makes me feel like I haven't wasted my life.
Her voice feels like home.
She's not afraid to hurt me.
Writers, true writers, are some of the bravest people I know.
To all the people who read my writing, I want to thank you, for spending your time to take notice. No really, you spent your time, like one would do w/ money, on my thoughts. I hope I lived up to the investment.
Anger is a good way to mask your hurt.
For those of your that still have moments of boredom: Be grateful for that. Boredom is a luxury.
Flora has made me an honest person.
There are people out there who are apologetic for their existence, like they spend all day worrying about being an inconvenience to someone just for taking up space. Be kind to those people.
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