I simply write what I want, wish, long to write. . . . The state of human life and the god or demon within. The constant internal war that being alive can conjure.
The length of your days does not belong to you.
When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.
We need to forgive ourselves. For all the things we didn't do. All the things we should have done. You can't get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened.
Have you found someone to share your heart with? Are you giving to your community? Are you at peace with yourself? Are you trying to be as human as you can be?
Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother's approval, a father's nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
Those who sage as they age view aging not as a hardship but, rather, as a precious gift filled with promise and replete with possibilities. We may age graciously into simplicity and love, allowing the power from our sense of well-being to permeate the atmosphere around us, or we may vault into older age revved up and in high gear.
Life is hard, money doesn't care, your tears don’t add value
If nothing matters, there's nothing to save.
The unselfish effort to bring cheer to others will be the beginning of a happier life for ourselves.