Even Strong Women Cry
I have been busy going through old photos, and journals lately. I have commiserated on all aspects of how to get it all together in some sort of order. How can I put all my life stories on the blank pages of yet unfinished memoirs. That is my debacle. It is overwhelming. I have felt joy, love, anger, frustration, but I have never given up hope. There has been a bevy of comments written about me and I have reveled in the joy of living my life by my rules. I live to feel my fingertips abound with colors that illuminate my life, but lately those colors have turned murky. I don't know why I feel so deeply about the joys and sorrows of others, but I do. I am lucky to have been loved in my lifetime. Deeply. I want to shout out to the world that one should ever give up, but I find myself barraged by the past and I need to go forward. I am in a rain puddle and can't seem to tip toe out of it, and dry myself off. I guess the angst I am feeling should be a blessing to my art, but now it