Thursday, May 15, 2014


La Pieta, Michelangelo, 1498-1499 (I saw this with my own eyes and it was the hand of perfection).
She became encapsulated in worry and sorrow. She had been stressed, anxious and so sad for too long. She had listened to the thoughts in her head over and over again, desiring for something that had past to come back to her - the return of herself. The inability to communicate with herself that she was in fact worth everything and more. So many had so little to say to her when she had asked them for the truth. Night after night, she knew something was going on to make her choose whether hope would sink or swim. Through her sheer strength she had manged to pull through all the dead exhaustion. Yet somehow her heart had grown stronger and stronger, through it all. She sat with her head in her hands and thought all the ways she had caught herself in a net. She realized that though it hurt so damn much, she couldn't let herself go. She felt best when she wrote or sang to herself. There more she looked inside, she finally realized that she was at her best when she lived with her life. When she allowed the keyboard to tap without thoughts on the contents of her head. That she was constantly blessed with many appropriate talents to have a life filled with celebration and the steady reduction of fears.That she could remember the past and how rough the tides had crashed the shore, but yet again love remained the only light. As the night sky opened up each night, the sound of sirens outside made her even more determined to find a way to put the damage aside.
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