Scrape the grey sky clean. Realize every grey cloud is a smoke screen to blind us from the truth, and the truth is whether we see them or not the sun and moon are still there, and always there is light.

What I said was I’ll miss you what I meant to say was I love you what I wanted to say was that I meant what I said and it’s funny how all those things I could have said flooded my head after we said goodbye and I should have told you I’d be willing to hold you until my flesh crumbles into bone because I’m willing to die alone but god knows I don’t want to live that way.

I sit before flowers hoping they will train me in the art of opening up I stand on mountain tops believing that avalanches will teach me to let go I know nothing but I am here to learn.

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them.

Look directly into every mirror. Realize our reflection is the first sentence to a story, and our story starts: We were here.

You see, the deaf have an intimacy with silence. It’s there in their dreams.

But we are more than genteel or civilized/ we are an idea in the process of being realized.