I am the eye of the storm, when you live in me, I am at peace; I am calm. When the dreams of living are tossed aside, the spirit of survival cranks up the muse. I pick my pen and put you to good use.
Winter of Discontent
Some day we will connect again. Pick up the fallen pieces and glue them up again. What shape the future holds I already know. The pieces that we left behind in the snow, someday, they will thaw.