Every Little Thing Wants To Be Loved.

We Must Err , Do So On The Side Of Audacity

It Was The Oldest Sound There Was. Souls Flying Away.

I Could Even Feel How Perishable All My Moments Really Were, How All My Life They Had Come To Me Begging To Be Lived, To Be Cherished Even.

Journal Became A Sanctuary Where I Could Pour Out In Honesty My Pain And Joy. It Recorded My Footsteps And Helped Me Understand Where I Was Standing, Where I Had Been, And Even Where God Pointed.

It Was The In-between Time, Before Day Leaves And Night Comes, A Time I’ve Never Been Partial To Because Of The Sadness That Lingers In The Space Between Going And Coming.