“My life, it seems now, has been, all along, this hazy wasteland of subjective opinion.” – “Merit” in Sacrosanct
A thought just occurred to me… What if the plays are like ovarian follicles; we’re born with a predetermined number of them inside of us, and when we’ve reached the end of our reproductive life, we find ourselves wordless… And then I remember Dr. Maya Angelou…
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.” http://mayaangelou.com/
My heart is full.
Yep.