Or, in truth, eventually, though I still noticed, the callouses on my spirit prevented wounds (p.75).

I feel the stars. Each sparkle sets aflame the pain in my heart.

Forgiveness is a little thing when love is there.

Writing isn't just on the page; it's voices in the reader's head. Read what you write out loud to someone-anyone-and you will catch all kinds of things.

And oh I want so much to sing, I tell myself no. But it is so hard to keep from singing.

Summer comes over the hill like a hairy blanket.

Or, in truth, eventually, though I still noticed, the callouses on my spirit prevented wounds (p.75).