The abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror - we all have it - that shadow self - that dark heart.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

Ambition or contentment? This simple question led me back to a more balanced view of life and put me in touch with the Me I used to know.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

A sensual life is a ghostly existence where you live on the surface and your soul passes through everything, touching nothing.