Drowning in the words she hated the most she finally took a breath. Steadily her feet took hold on the bottom of the pond. Navigation was slow but careful. This time. Her head did not burst from underneath the water. Her thoughts slipped her away thru the tangles, sand, rock, pebbles and in time. Arose. Then she began to walk on the water again.

I will never love. Then how will I love? No one will ever read what I write. If I do not write it will be so. In order to move forward I must step. If I do not step I will not move.

Once upon the land she felt a cold finger burn her from behind. She turned to see the ones left behind. Why did they die and not she? They cannot move on now. A bird caught her attention with music she tuned into her mind. The wind warmed and she twirled. Slapped by sudden happy. She twirled again. She had never twirled so. Then why did she leap into a dance?

Clean people gather dust. It is just the way it is. The dust gathers and builds to dirt. Mud can be a bogging chore. An adoring odor seals ones fate as the smells are sorted, chosen then followed. Until the notion that it is time to clean again. Maybe this time it will be better dust.

She was not sure how she had risen so. Her feet relieved from the pressure of her body, were free. She was she. Apart from anything she would not be. Catching a leaf with her toes. She kicked it up into her hands. It nestled then waited.

Nothing that was never inspected will not teach. The blind do not see color but oh… do they reach. The boulder is but a pebble that beckons to be breached. Never turn back time nor rush into it. Stand still it holds power not illusion.

A small child will hold treasures in their pockets next to their hearts. Sticks, stones, tears, feathers, pillows, teddy bears and prayers. Nighttime nightmares are all the same. Dreams. Love is not to be grasped, held or strangled. Never being felt. Touched.