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

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

Summer comes over the hill like a hairy blanket.

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.

Secrets could never be rushed. They had to come of their own accord, on their own schedule. That way ,when they came , the offered themselves as a gift.

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