When the creative impulse sweeps over you, grab it. You grab it and honor it and use it, because momentum is a rare gift.
He knew me in all the ways that truly mattered: the shape of my fears, the contours of my dreams.
What would it be like to look in the mirror and actually accept what you see? Not loathe the reflection, or despise it, or be resigned to it? But to like it?
Maybe getting around in life was nothing but map-reading. A skill that required practice. A key to unlock where you wanted to go. A legend to show where you were.
