Something remarkable happens when for a brief moment you forget that it is very possible to fail. - When a moment of brave prideful courage overcomes you and you feel like you can consume the world. You take it personally, like a mantra bubbling up from your being, "I can fix it! I can fix it!!" But so many times when we get to the problem our courage is replaced with doubt; the mantra sinking into the crevices of where it hidden again. Within us. Waiting to be birthed. Waiting to fix, something.

I think that all writing comes out of pain. Every remarkable work harnesses compassion or strain that begs you to empathize with the pain that someone-something, has felt. It is pain that has taken another form, it appears differently in plots and characters; pawns in a sense, that grace the game board of life. Nonetheless, pain is present. The Bible. A God's suffrage for grace of an undeserving people. Shakespeare's sonnets that brought us to our knees with the agony of lost love.-a lover's sorrow. In every classic there is a tugging on our heart strings that invokes a reply of our emotions.

                       In short, Pain is Poetry.

Birds of a feather flock together. It's what the saying reads. But a lot of times I feel like I have no one of my feather to flock with, I am just a pelican alone at sea.

You are the wind in my sails, the breath in my lungs, the magic in my wishes, the butterflies in my kisses, you are the stubborn pumping of this old aching heart.

I remember your laugh and all the good times we shared. I remember when we were a big part of each others lives. How I could depend on you, I was sure of you. And as I now see your life through pictures and captured moments that I'm not a part of I can't help think to myself, why did I ever think I didn't want to be a part of it? Why did I make you optional?

I think the statement is true, if you stop loving someone you never did love them, and if you truly love someone you always will. I have people in my life that have hurt me, that I still deeply and passionately care about, whether they are aware of this or not. A part of loving is reserving a little spot of your heart to them, just them, and even if they decide not to take it, that they don't want it, or they've moved on, that spot always has their name on it. Always unconsciously waiting, reserved, just in case they ever want to return.