Oh and could I tell you a story. A lie you could all get behind. Fit for the history books, so beautiful in its elegant parsimony.
He wounds of love are so many only some will heal and the joy of love is so few but non will fate a way. The valleys we cross in life are joy we are building for tomorrow.
Tired now, so this may not hang too well.
I'm knitting even though my hands are still. I read and try to watch the television in the far corner of the room.
I have gone from believing that I am the center of the universe to believing that the universe is the center of me.