the light around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. after a period, peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed. Maya Angelou
Posted on: Mon, 05 May 2014 05:46:47 +0000