And then. . .

X marks the spot. When I was thirteen I was in love. I believed that this was my great love. With all my being I had to be with him. I had to breathe his air. Taste his taste. Without him I truly believed that I would die. Now sixteen years later I'm still breathing. Not his air. Tasting, but not his taste. But, I still remember the longing. The way my heart yearned in that youthful way, and I have a small reminder. A small X on my left ankle, where he cut me. Quite literally with a razor blade. So he could taste my taste.

There's a time and a place where everything appears to be fine; calm, steady. But, the calm means something, cloudy with a chance of tornado. Sometimes you have to believe that, the coming storm is good. Even when the clouds dance and grumble in their darkness and varying shades of grey. The clouds always hold the hope of a rainbow. A figurative kaleidoscope of hope.

Fall is coming, and I am excited. The weather changes and with it comes a breath of cool air to breathe some newness into our lives. A freshly minted snowflake that glitters in the light. For the first time in a long time fall and the holidays means something positive. . .