Another poem about that one word.
Strands of keratin. They slide between my fingers and I think-- Where were we, Love, when this small space at the end of the lengths were new, emerging like buds of Spring from scalp and skin?
A short poem about that one word.
Few things are more ripe for charity than living with mental illness. I have to rely on so many other people, and 90% of the time, it's Campbell. And he's the one with cancer! But he wants to do it. And I need to let him carry me in the dark times...even if he's crippled too.
C. S. Lewis once said, "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one.'"