The Love of My Life.

I was fourteen.  I wore plaid and polos.  I was horribly unaware, but completely self-conscious.  I had little time for nonsense, I only tolerated my peers when shenanigans occurred.  

He was seventeen.  He also wore polos, and on occasion, a bright green silk tie with his white collared shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He meant business, and I appreciated his seriousness.

I wanted so badly to talk to him, to know him, to be his friend.  I would take the long way to class just to pass by his locker, in the off chance that he was there. 

I want so badly to be with him, to hold his hand, to hold his heart. I will take the long way around if it means we can have forever together.

is this really my Saturday night?

There is nothing more pathetic than my e-mail drafts folder. Half written notes used as a catharsis for some emotional surge that plagued me at some very specific moments in life.  I'm happy I never actually sent any of them, but they did help while I was writing them.  And kind of like those old diaries that contain silly secrets, I can't bring myself to throw them away.

I think it would be interesting to create a blog using those messages left unsent, those text messages we write with no intention of sending, but really really want to.  I think a similar theme could be found in all of mine: please help me, I'm hurting.  I'm pretty positive that many people would have a similar message.  Sad to think that it will never be heard.  Sad to think some people don't even care.  Sad to think some people can't care because they don't have the ability to.  Sad to think I have time to think of all these ridiculous scenarios.

Of This I am Sure.

"Thank God that this world is the only Hell we'll ever have to know."


Oh that followers of Christ may have this great hope, this blessed assurance that we are not permanent residents of this planet, rather we are merely pilgrims on our way to a much greater destination. Praise be to God.

decisions, decisions.

I have three options for tomorrow:

1. Kill myself.
2. Run away from home.
3. Sob until my body runs out of tears, and I make myself utterly sick.

they all seem pretty plausible in this moment...I halfway hope the inclination for number one decreases because I'm sure I would regret it on Monday morning...then again, next week is finals.

Navigation.

Now that I've done it, I can navigate through the city alone just fine...but I don't really think  I'd want to, I like sharing it with my Man.

PS: Guggenheim is pretty inspirational, and headache inducing.

mindless chatter.

The shear curtains swayed gently as the crisp fall breeze danced through the window.  It was only half past five in the evening, but it felt much later.  Exhaustion fooled my body once again.  I glanced down at my phone and reminded myself that there was still work to be done before night got away from me, again.  In the not so distant downstairs I could hear my siblings argue meaninglessly about who was to wash the dishes, and who was to dry them.  "It's all the same," I thought to myself with a silent laugh, "I could probably do it all in less time than it takes them to fight about it."  But who am I to get in the way of their chores?  I had just completed making dinner, setting out the dishes, and cleaning up the left over food.  I deserved a break, right?  I quickly made my escape up to my hideaway as soon as everyone was preoccupied.  Perhaps that was deceitful, but quite frankly, I like being alone more than being in the company of others, even when that company is my own flesh and blood.  At least this isn't a new pattern.  Ever since I could remember being alone in my room was better than being with people.  I'm no good at small talk, I'm reluctant to start conversations, and if I could choose I would never bring myself to a party.  People bother me.  It's not that I'm afraid of them, I just don't like them.  With all their problems, and pains, quirks, and smells...I find it much easier to deal with one person: me.  I am a comprised of all the things which I do not like, but at least I'm familiar with my shortcomings, my hidden secrets, my annoying habits, and distasteful aroma.  I brought myself out of this cloud of mindless chatter an back into the world beckoning me from inside the pages of my psychology textbook.  I reached for it, but fell short.  If I haven't read it by now, am I really going to read it right now?  Perhaps tomorrow, when it isn't quite so dark outside.  Let's hope it rains again.

deafened by the silence.

Today I heard the sound of birds and I wish that I was anywhere but here.
It's too quiet, too quiet.

insert profanity.

stupid effing world.

i guess i missed the part where watching my mom get lowered into the ground was going to become less painful.

Letters From the Sky.

One of these days letters are gonna fall from the sky telling us all to go free.
But until that day I'll find a way to let everybody know that you're coming back,
you're coming back for me.
Cause even though you left me here, I have nothing left to fear.
These are only walls that hold me here.
-Civil Twilight

Legitimate Logistics.

"What's your plan after graduating from Union County?"

Today I verbalized my plan to someone other than a family member...it made me feel pretty freaking legit.  I think it surprised the counselor.  She just looked at me and said,

"Wow. That's the best plan of action I've heard from a student in a long time. Best of luck."

Shock, of course.

He was dressed in black slacks, a black button down shirt, and a black vest.  His black dress shoes were slightly scuffed on the ride side of the left foot, but mostly polished.  He spun his gold wedding band nervously as he sat alone at the cafe table.  I had just glanced behind me to look at the teas, but caught his familiar face instead.  His eyes were tired, drooping with the weight of many sleepless nights.  His mouth was curved downwards, indicating incessant sadness.  He looked friendly, but ominous;  like he was about to share some horrible news that was absolutely necessary for me to hear. Mesmerized, I stared at him.  His black ensemble, and feeble hands were so intriguing all of the sudden.  I felt like I knew so much about him, not because I was examining, but because I could here his voice in my head even though he sat in utter silence.  It was the way he sat, tall and unmoved, but very uncomfortable.  He looked out of place, like he needed to leave, lest anyone see him.  His eyes, though tired, were alert and shifting.  Finally they pierced me and my mouth hung gaping open.  He had discovered me watching him.  I was worried he would stare back, but instead he gave me a sympathetic half smile and suddenly became very concerned with his wedding band.  I turned away, still in awe.  How did I know this man?  I kept glancing behind me to watch him.  With every turn of my head and every eyeful of him I pieced together more and more of the conversation we had.

His order was up, and he somberly walked to the cashier to pay.  It killed me inside, I did not want him to leave, I wanted to follow him, to watch him just a little more.  I needed to know why I had spoken with him, why I felt I knew so much about him.

He reached for the door when the cashier asked him if he'd like a bag for his items.
"Of course" was his gentle and caring response.  It sounded rehearsed, as if he knew she would ask, as if he had been waiting to give that exact reply.

Suddenly it washed over me like a cold and unwelcome tidal wave of shock.

"Have you decided on a color?"
"I think we need a few more minutes," my voice faded as tears welled up in my tired eyes.
"Of course," the man spoke softly, "of course."
Moments passed, but it felt like a lifetime.  Walking around in the same small area made me claustriphobic, choosing pastel colors and wood finishes made me sick.
"We'd like the oak, with the pink interior. Mommy loved pink, she loved..."
"Of course."

Legit Studying.

I sat down and studied for the first time all semester tonight.

This was not my normal bo-bo two-minute-glance-at-a-page-recite-one-vocab-word-and-call-it-a-day studying.  I mean I made a cup of coffe, cracked open my textbook, my notebook, and website companion and studied for two and a half hours. Still not a super long time, but compared to my normal, I'm pretty stoked.  It felt good to work, to read, to memorize.  Let's hope it pays off tomorrow.

If I don't do well, it's back to my bo-bo study habits...only kidding.

such is life.

life on earth is full of death. ironic? so often there are moments of such sorrow, harrowing and inexplicable grief.

but there is hope in the love of a husband and wife.
such great joy in the heartbeat of  growing infant.

it is in life that God extends grace.
it is in death that God fulfills hope.

Collision.

The dawn is breaking,
a light shining through.
You're barely waking,
and I'm tangled up in you, yeah

Even the best fall down sometimes.
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme.
Out of the doubt that fills my mind,
I somehow find you and I collide.

You and I collide.


It has been a secret dream to have this song sung to me.
regardless,
this song will always bring me to a place of contentment. for four minutes and seven seconds, anyways.

Blood.

I was trying to be brave.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could actually do something meaningful.
I was shaking. I was emotional. I was holding back tears.

Now I just feel like an idiot. Of course you can't donate when you've got a cold.

Remember.

The radio sang and I hummed. The light turned green and I turned the wheel.  Suddenly the street elongated as if it was something out of a trippy cartoon. The cars seemed to slow down, or perhaps they were blazing by at the speed of light. I glanced out my rear view window, everything behind me was untouched by what lay in front of me.  The school bus continued to drop off children, the mailman continued to deliver letters.  I peeled my eyes away from the rear view and focused out the windshield.  As if it were out of a movie, all at once the sirens blared, the lights blazed, and the horror filled my mind.  Leaving not even a second to process what was happening I instinctively pulled the car over to the side and allowed the ambulance to roar down the road. All this within a few fleeting breaths, but it changed everything.  I don't know who the ambulance carried, or why they were rushing to the hospital, but it doesn't matter.  It happened. And for all I know, the repercussions of that moment are still being felt, perhaps they will continue to be felt for the rest of this mortal lifetime.  It is a sobering thought.. one moment changes everything.

It bothers me when people do not understand that everything matters. Events matter. People matter. Words matter.  Good and bad, every action bears a consequence. The phrase "time and space is the great healer" really pisses me off.  Probably because I know it's true, but I don't want to wait.  I want the pain to subside now. I wish humans could grasp that memories are real, and intimate, and extremely powerful.  [I'm writing this down because I believe memories carry some sort of emotional baggage and that weight upon the individual is both legitimate and worth exploring.]  The mind is able to remember minor details, able to hide pain from the individual. I do not think this is coincidental. But sometimes pain is triggered by a familiar thought, idea, scent, or scene. Again, I do not think this is coincidental.  There must be a purpose, I just don't know what it is, but I am going to find out.

One moment is all it takes.

and happy freaking september.

I'd Like to Die Moments After You.

Lately when I'm driving I have thoughts that float into my head, but disappear as soon as the light turns green.  So instead of causing a wreck, I think I'll keep track of them here.

why does heartache exist? I guess a better question is: why did evil have to enter the world? why did God see fit to create a perfect world, only to have it messed up? why such brokenness? was He bored? was He simply entertaining angels? just why? ..not that I would like the answer to that question if I ever got one.  I learned that the hard way on December 4th, 2009.  when is God coming back? maybe He really did just create the world and then let it loose. I hate to think He forgot about us, but sometimes I wonder.  what does He think when I'm driving alone and start to cry? is He moved the way I would be if I saw a young woman crying at the wheel?  perhaps it's selfish and naive for me to think God would consider my pain something important. but isn't it only human to want to be heard, and held? to be held. that's an interesting concept.  I want it so badly, in fact I long for it, but I'm so closed. I would love to blame my lack of communication skills on the people who took advantage of me, who hurt me, but I know in my heart of hearts that it isn't their choice to be so guarded, it's mine. at any rate, screw the perverts who cause[d] children pain, and fear, and emptiness. it makes me angry to think about how much hurt is in the world. I want to change it. I have no idea where I'm going, what I should be, who I should become. I'm discovering that life is very unfulfilling when you have no purpose.

Art of War.

some wounds don't heal.

it's been twelve years.

it's been nine years.

it's been six years.

it's been one year.

it's been nine months.

August Twenty-Seven.

If I was not opposed to it, I would be using superfluous amounts of curse words in this blog entry.  However, I know the good Lord would not appreciate such language, so I will try to refrain.

One year ago I sat alone in my dorm room at America's Keswick, one hour and fifteen minutes away from my home.  One year ago today I called my mom's cell phone to hear her voice and wish her a happy birthday.  She was so happy.  She made it to August 27th.  "I knew you would, Mommy." I said with a twinge of sarcasm.  Of course she was going to have another birthday.  It was only Lymphoma.

The phone call didn't last long, she was out at dinner with the rest of the family.  I should have been there.  I should have explained my situation to my boss.  I should have just left.  But instead I sat in my room waiting for my nightly responsibilities to begin.  Looking back, I don't remember what I did that night.  Quite frankly, I don't give a crap.  It doesn't matter, it didn't matter.  All I remember is falling asleep that night was hard.  Not because I was sad not to be home, but because I was so self-absorbed, so caught up in the mess I had made.

On August 26th we made bars of soap as an activity.  I made a pink one with lavender flowers in it.  I knew my mom would have loved it.  I was going to wrap it up and give it to her as soon as I got home.  But I lost it.  I never found it.  I never gave her a birthday present.

And now it's August 27th.  I'm sitting alone in my bedroom,  one hour and fifteen minutes away from America's Keswick.  I went out to dinner tonight, but Mommy wasn't there.  We had a cake with custard and fresh strawberries, topped with lots and lots of pink and white flowers.  We all just sat there, staring at it.  Nobody wanted to touch it.  Probably because it's just not right to have cake without the special birthday person not there.

I miss hearing my mom walk in the door and setting her keys on the table.  I miss her complaining about the dishes not getting done.  I miss her walking up the stairs to bring me a shirt that somehow got mixed up in her laundry.  I miss her sitting on the end of my bed, commenting on my massive amounts of dirty clothes, and then in the same breath, complementing my picture of Andrew.  I miss walking in on her kneeled beside her bed praying.  I miss her giving me a hug and saying "You're a good Doobie".

Mommy, I love you.  I can't wait to see.  If I could, I would have a countdown of days til I get to give you a hug (just like the ones you and I would make for me seeing Andrew).  I miss you so much, but I love you even more than that.

Because Pink is Her Favorite; Because it Reminds Me of Her.

I didn't get the "dorm room experience" last year, I won't this year, and by the time Junior and Senior year roll around, I won't want it. So I kind of created my own "experience" by completely redecorating my bedroom. It still has pink walls, and is still Paris themed. But I now have a new bed, new sheets, new chair, new lights, and new end tables. It feels like new everything, quite honestly.

I really like my new room, but I think my favorite part is the pink daisy that's sitting on the pink end table.

Sweet Serenades.

sing me to sleep and I will be the content.
hold my hand through the night and I will be safe.

what would happen if you sing me to sleep while holding my hand?
I hope I find out.

The Ocean is Salty, Just Like Tears.

God, I know it's selfish, but I want to get married, grow old, and die in my husband's arms.

Forget love, I just want you to make sense to me tonight.
Forget words, I just want you to make sense to me tonight.
-Anchor & Braille

Losing My Grip.

Up on this hill, in this uncanny house
The wind makes this place creak, the lights they are flickering.
The moon she is lurking, the clock it stopped working
At a quarter past three.
There's something dancing here in the shadows
And I wish it were us.

You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
Tonight.
Tonight.

Can't get your memory, off of my mind, my mind.
Just want your heartbeat, on top of mine, of mine.
There's something dancing, here in the shadows
And I wish it were us.

You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
Tonight.
Tonight.

Up on this hill, in this uncanny house.
Your spirit I can't see, but I still believe
I can feel your breath on me.

You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
You haunt me baby, you haunt me here tonight.
Tonight.
Tonight.

Up on this hill, in this uncanny house.

Stupid Birds.

Is it weird that a part of me enjoys embracing pain and sadness?

There's a certain song that I played over and over again many months ago because I thought it was melancholy, but sweet. Lonely, but comforting. I suppose I liked the dismal lyrics mixed with its ironically catchy beat. I sang it to myself, played it on repeat, memorized its every ebb and flow. It became some what of an obsession.

Over the years I have found refuge in music in times of uncertainty, in times of depression, in times of mourning. Usually it's one song in particular. In fact, I think I have a song for each of the major changes in my life. Even though I once listened to them constantly, now that the event has passed and time has elapsed, I can't even recall the last time I listened to one of those "monumental therapists". I guess because I don't want to return to that place of emotional distress. Makes sense.

But this one song floated into my head today as I cleaned out my computer files from this past fall. At first I was excited that I even remembered the song existed. Booyah for rediscovering songs! However as I hummed it to myself and continued deleting files, I remembered why that song had settled in my head. Suddenly I was not excited, but disgusted. I wanted nothing more than to forget the song, and more importantly forget all the memories attached to it.

And yet here I am, listening to it on repeat.

So is it strange that I welcome this pathetically sad and hopelessly romantic song with all of the painful baggage it carries back into my life?

I guess I'll never know why sparrows love the snow.

-A Perspective.

A Day to Remember.

"Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body. And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins." Matthew 22:26-28

As Liam and I sat down in the pew for church this morning, he leaned in and whispered excitedly, "Next week I'm being baptized!". A huge smile swept across my face as I gave him a hug. I am so excited for him. He asked me a few weeks ago when it would be "his turn" to be baptized. He accepted Christ as Savior a couple years ago after VBS. He had been asking Mommy some questions and he decided to say a prayer and join God's family. We haven't had any recent baptisms, so I know that this is something Liam has been thinking about and waiting for. He knows that it is an important step, but he can't wait to go to the class next Sunday to find out exactly what is going to happen during the service as he publicly declares his decision to follow Jesus Christ.

I could see it in the way his eyes lit up when he said it was finally his time to be baptized. He is so excited.

Today was also Lord's Supper. Now, up until this point Liam has not taken part in the service. But today, without any instruction, or questioning, he took a piece of bread, cup of juice and partook in the Lord's Supper. I was taken aback at first. He was so eager to take a small piece of matzah bread and tiny cup of grape juice. But then it occurred to me, Liam has been watching everyone do this for years and now today after realizing that he would be baptized soon and understanding the seriousness of the ceremony chose to not only partake, but was excited! I then thought to myself... how often do adults just pass the elements, or consume them, void of any meaning.

It makes sense now. "For the Kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children. I tell you the truth, anyone who doesn’t receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” Mark 10:14-15

Oh to be young at heart, willing to accept, eager to serve, and excited to change.

-A Perspective

numb3rs.

scare the freaking crap out of me.

-A Perspective

Self Portrait.

I am; a daughter. a sister. a companion. brokenhearted. hopeful. lonely. surrounded. aware. oblivious. afraid. waiting. eager. a little emo. a selective fanatic. passive. opinionated. uneasily amused. only human. longing for more. annoyed with politics. enthused by art. bored of school. a pessimist. interested with the mundane. not a fan of numbers. intrigued by philosophy. wondering. an explorer of the familiar. a follower in large groups. a leader in small groups. more apt to like small children. comfortable around adults. uncomfortable around girls my age. not very humorous. a picky music person. secretive. ashamed. being made new. imperfect. trying. a follower of Christ.

-A Perspective

This is not Heaven.

I hate summer; it lacks structure. I hate dusk; it's neither day, nor night. I hate the song Fin; it hits too close to home.

-A Perspective

Eyes Wide Shut.

Perpetually tired and constantly fighting exhaustion. What is it about the warm sunshine that makes me want to sleep? What is it about the darkness that keeps me wide awake? I think I'm afraid to miss out on something, I'm scared to lose more time.

We'll sleep, we'll sleep, we'll sleep when we die,
so just lie awake with me here all night.
We'll sleep, we'll sleep, we'll sleep when we die,
so just lie awake with me here tonight.
-Sleep. When We Die:: Anchor&Braille

-A Perspective

She's Pitiful.

I never did make a very big deal about my birthday. I never really liked the attention. I always felt bad about getting gifts.

This year is no different. Except that I wish everyone could completely forget, or at least ignore that it's my birthday. Without Mommy, I don't really have any desire to celebrate another year of life. This past year has been the hardest of my life. I don't even want to celebrate it being over, I just want to crawl away and forget it ever happened. I don't want to forget what I learned, just how I learned it.

What I wouldn't do to have this past year play on repeat...even though it was living hell, I'd take it in less than a heartbeat.

{Behind that weathered door, I thought it would be safest.
My head is dizzy now, I thought we’d overcome.
We might not make it home tonight.
Crawling on the ash, she's pitiful.
::Barcelona; Get Up}

-A Perspective

Pretending.

Things used to be normal way back when. Sometimes I think pretending is a much better way of living than the here and now.

-A Perspective

Homesick.

There is a lot that could be said about the past. Some good, some bad. Driving down the once familiar streets of Worcester, I wanted to remember the happy times; birthdays, Christmas, and summer. And yet, all I could recall was pain, fear, and shame. Perhaps it was because some of the most frightening moments occurred while I called Fales Street home, perhaps it was because I drove through that once bright and cheery neighborhood as a now motherless child. It stung, and it throbbed. I don't even know if I could identify "it"...I guess it could be categorized as the the overall atmosphere of visiting a prior life as a different person. It was uncomfortable. I hated the way my old home was stripped of the old oak tree, the way Burncoat Pizza had a flashy new sign, how the Everetts had not moved even a single stepping stone. All of it was provocative. Arrogantly exposing itself, hardly aware of the displeasure it brought me. Those were my favorite days. Those were my most cherished years, and it will never be the same. I was bothered that I couldn't remember the wallpaper pattern in the old dining room like I once did. (I did eventually; small cherry blossoms floating in a sea of white shimmer). But why couldn't I remember it? Because I have not thought about it for quite some time. The walls that held my childhood, the doors that hid my tears, the windows that freed my pain had all been forgotten. To know something so intimately and then hardly recognize it is both depressing and captivating. Sick to my stomach with memories of sadness, I was more than grateful to leave that old neighborhood. However, I was even more sad as we drove back to Jersey because now I long for those days to return more than ever before. I want the days of lemonade stands, babysitters, and Mommy's hugs. But more than that, I don't want to forget my memories.

Somedays the most that you hoped you do
Is step in your leather shoes
And make your way around the block
Days that tired mother of ours
And living has made her sad
How she wishes she could stop the clock

-A Perspective

Conspicuously Mysterious.

Road trips. Exploration. Windmills. One may wonder why those three words earn the honor of being placed in a lowly blog. One reason: mystery. Yes, ladies and gents, I am intrigued by the unknown. Road trips mean traveling to new places, exploring what was once just a dream. If you're lucky, you may just stumble upon a giant beast of power swinging its giant arms around and around, slicing through the air moment after moment. Why are these random structures so interesting to me? Probably the same reason why some individuals enjoy the crashing of waves, or view from the peak. It forces you to stop. It forces you to be in awe of something much greater than yourself. It forces you to remember that you are but a mere human, incapable and mostly unaware of the vast greatness of the endless universe.

Road trips bring us to the exploration of windmills, because we all need to reminded of our smallness.

-A Perspective

Never Ready to Leave.

I am convinced that my heart lives in the wooden panels of set props, and my soul hides in the shadows of the audience, because I feel most alive when I am on stage.

That chapter is over. Curtain.

-A Perspective

In the water I remain.

"Remember when it rained?" the not so little boy asked his sister. With a knowing twinkle in her eye and thoughtful smile she replied,
"Which time is that?"
"You know," the young man's eyes welled up with tears, "that day. The day I became a man, at least that's what Dad says.." the strong voiced faded as he turned his face toward the black night outside the window.
"I love you, you know that?" tears now choked the sister as she, too, turned to face the dark abyss of evening. Soft sobs replaced inhales and exhales. The young man gently grabbed his sister's hand. Several minutes slowly passed until finally he asked,
"Do you think she's happy, even when it rains?"
"Especially when it rains."


Tears of hope run down my skin.
Tears for you that will not dry.
They magnify the one within
And let the outside slowly die.

For the bravest young men I have the pleasure of knowing, Lucas and Liam.

-A Perspective

Thoughts Like Raindrops

I’ll make you mine if you would have me.
With a silver ring that will hug you tight,
Our life begins.
Our life begins with this.

I’ll prove my love if you would let me.
Over and over and over again.

We’ll bring a child into this world
And we’ll say the one thing
Everyone should hear:

You were meant for amazing things.

Give me your hand, it’s time.
It’s time to show new eyes their home.
When fences divide our land,
I would catch bullets with my bare hands.

Because you were meant for amazing things

-Sleeping At Last, Umbrellas.

Scattered throughout life there are moments that stun us, images that captivate us, and sounds that mesmerize. Usually such times cannot be anticipated, that is why they are so extraordinary. These instances can be good, but because of this broken world, more often than not, they are bad. However today when I stumbled upon this song by Sleeping At Last, I was positively amazed. Perhaps because the singer's voice is so incredibly unique, or because the instruments were so perfectly programmed to instill melancholy, and great joy (sometimes at the same time!). Yes, this song has a lot going for it, but I believe it touched me for neither of the aforementioned reasons.

"Umbrellas" spoke every word that I have been trying to articulate for the past week. As I sat alone listening in utter amazement the thought ran through my mind over and over; It's almost as if the thoughts from my unconscious diary were written down in flawless poetic fashion, and even given music to wrap it all together.

It is moments like that which cause me to drop everything and wonder how similar humans truly are. Yes, we are all as snowflakes, completely different. And yet, we are all the same in that we share heartache, we desire love, we hope for something more. It is moments like that which make me wipe the tears from my eyes and breathe a deep and heavy sigh of relief.

-A Perspective.