Some things don't heal, or they heal in a way that every day there's a reminder that it's not like it was before, and never will be again.
I'd go from being sharply focused and on point to having the mental focus of a squirrel on caffeine combined with the memory of a goldfish with a concussion.
Somehow, these words can have a monumental impact on someone the author will never meet, due to time or distance or both.
If I'm honest, in this moment, that's a tradeoff I'm not willing to make
I heard Death whisper my name On that bright spring morn. The wind carried the scent of fresh cut grass, Lilacs and Lilies, And the subtle seductive voice of my own thoughts I heard Death whisper my name On yet another restless night. Tossing and turning, Reliving, Rehashing Every mistake I’d made and remade and … Continue reading Whisper