I Think Bravery Means A Different Thing

I Could Not Stop Talking Because Now I Had Started My Story, It Wanted To Be Finished. We Cannot Choose Where To Start And Stop. Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.

A Scar Does Not Form On The Dying. A Scar Means, I Survived.

The Ways In Which We Are Able To Express Courage Also Depend On The Hand Life Deals Us.

This Is The Forked Tongue Of Grief Again. It Whispers In One Ear: Return To What You Once Loved Best, And In The Other Ear It Whispers, Move On.

It Was The Month Of May And There Was Warm Sunshine Dripping Through The Holes Between The Clouds, Like The Sky Was A Broken Blue Bowl And A Child Was Trying To Keep Honey In It.