Monday, January 27, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
"SHE COULD NEVER GO BACK AND MAKE SOME OF THE DETAILS PRETTY.
ALL SHE COULD DO WAS MOVE FORWARD AND MAKE THE WHOLE BEAUTIFUL."
2013 was the year the locusts ate. Some of the broken-off, molded pieces still find a home under my pillowcase, behind my eyelids, in the grass cracking through melting snow. But I'm no longer holding my breath. It's over and gone I'm never going back, not ever. And I'm glad, so glad.