So.

After a While
After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.

Veronica A. Shoffstall

Sounds trite and empty, but maybe just this morning.

Skin

I was speaking earlier about hope. I don't remember what I said; I'm tired, and being tired always forces me very much into the present, into current focus, and squeezes everything else out of the way. I think that's why I keep myself so busy, sometimes, so I can remain *tired* but *present*. It's so easy to be distracted by the mental cloud.

I wanted to say, though, that I feel hopeful sometimes now. It's sort of a tearing feeling sometimes, because changing that sort of habit *does* tear, but it's there.

The things I want from my life *are* changing. They aren't changed, yet, but they are on their way. I wonder where I am going? I wonder what it will look like? There will be more to it than day-after-day, I know that, although there generally is more to my life than just one day after another.

I think this is how it feels to be going forward deliberately into my future rather than being afraid of it and hanging back or clinging with a death-grip to the present. I still can't see the future, but it feels like a good place to be. Friendly.

So does the inside of my skin. I'm at home here. Oh, but it's been a long time.

(no subject)

It's a little thing yet, wet, wings still crumpled. Drown it quick, and it will leave only the smallest echo of regret.