She wondered If I had woken up, would I have smelled his sadness, his desperation, and his detachment?
His death, her breath.
He told her once, she remembers, these two words have no other rhyme but each other.
If she could go back, she thinks --
She would open her eyes, instead of her heart.
Tags: inspirational deep-thoughts beautiful emotional raw
This is a book about fracture. About the experiences that make up a life. About the pieces of me.
Delving into naked emotion is a terrifying proposition. Digging into our souls to look for answers that may not be there is a ledge most of us avoid.
And yet, here I am.
Tags: honesty courage broken-pieces
Women have rooms inside of us men cannot fathom.
It’s where we store the depths of the hurt we’ve been dealt.
Where we store the deep love we never want to lose.
I gave my heart to a man who loved me, who wanted to be with me. Who ultimately was afraid of all I offered.
I didn’t understand why he sabotaged our future at the time – cheating on me, again, as we were making final plans to move in together. By the time he came over to smooth talk his way out of it, I was done. No more crying. Even my tears had given up on him. I’d already moved on, his cheating was simply the key left in the mailbox.
I still can’t wrap my mind around crossing that line of human behavior – civilized people punching and fighting, making violence their communication of choice.
Is it because I’m a woman, I’ve never considered hitting someone who acted inappropriately? Even one of my best male friends, a gentle man, a believer in spirit and mankind, has thrown a few punches in his time.
As a writer, my weapons are words. The thought of hurting someone physically to prove my point has never and will never be an option for me. Well, let me amend that: if someone hurt my child in front of me, tiger-mother’s claws would come out.
Tags: physical-violence
My world, created by glass and flame in the birth of your heat, implodes inside the shadowed walls of my heart.
I swallowed the shards you gave me, your eyes on mine.
Nothing is easy.
I wait, feeling your hands holding the shattered pieces of my soul together in the molten, darkest recesses of the heart you claimed, unwilling to give up.
I am inside you, waiting to come out.
Silence is one of worst, most vocal enemies, yet people go through many bouts of depression not sharing what is happening. People don’t understand that, but as someone who suffers from it, I can tell you that it’s difficult to be objective about the gray.
I described depression to my therapist as a misty fog that surrounds me, heavy on my shoulders, pervading everything and nothing at all. I liken depression to a bird stealing into the depths of your soul, pecking at your disposition until nothing is left.
And that is when you break into pieces.
Tags: depression
Like a butterfly in glass, I want to fly away to you but the invisible walls contain me. It’s not time.
Hard to accept when I feel your words calling to me.
Your soul beckoning me with its pull.
Come to me, you say in one breath; stay, you say in another.
I taste your lips on mine and pray I make my way to you
As a butterfly chases its freedom.
So will I.
Tags: freedom
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