back when I sat in the backseat.

In my grammie’s basement discovering that when I was little, trees grew from my head.

It’s funny how sometimes I think I’d like to go back to these days. (Because really, I don’t think I would). I had an excellent childhood and I can’t complain, and I can’t say I fully understand those who haven’t had such a ‘romantic’ childhood.

But I do believe that as much as it shapes you, it doesn’t bind you. We grow out of those tiny bodies and though we might be able to remember vividly what it’s like to be in them, we don’t ever go back to them.

What’s the first thing you think of when you think of childhood?

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Sometimes I hold the Devil up.

Stop holding up with your hands

the feet of the one whose soul is set on the decimation of the divine; see, he can only stay up as long as he’s being held, wherever he is being held. It’s up to your hands.

Let them drop, worthless at your sides and swinging, so you know that not only is he falling but all else you thought you could hold on your own is, too.

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On a ferry, on top of the Atlantic.

And as we stood going back and forth in motion, we created layers of cream on liquid ocean.

 

 

 

Ireland is captivating.

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A bird doesn’t …

A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

-Maya Angelou

Say what is worth saying; not because you think you are supposed to, but because it is too overwhelming and beautiful to not be heard.

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