she was there all along.

My hands are ink stained, and smell of coffee.My days are a wheel [it seemed as though it was rolling on without me] that I am slowly getting back.

I am remembering what glorious color comes when you don't hold back.

that the paint on my brush has gone from grey to a deep purple gives me hope that I am getting myself back;

and I can only give what I can feel so deeply may I dig and bring and give and offer any of those with empty hands.

I am re-learning the words the war cries the stomach wrenching laughter the aching and longing and victory that comes with putting your soul into your actions.

How often we forget. [by grace]How quickly we remember.we are reminded.

Posted on December 25, 2009 and filed under writing-.