“Have you ever actually known poverty?” Alice asked. Nothing is guaranteed. The presence of happiness, security or
love have nothing to do with money.
But the absence of these things can ruin you forever.
I prefer the perennials. The roses and hydrangea. The commitment to flower after winter. Not everyday we bloom, cut back to the
root we grow again. Beautiful at
our most vulnerable, petals lost in the wind.
“Will you know me, Mary?” Seamus asked. I was pruned clear to my roots. Tears on a bare face, infinitesimal
leaks from the hurricane inside.
When you have nothing left to lose, freedom’s not the
word. Instead you learn you’ve
lost nothing and found all you need.
The moments that sum parts of me.
Not all of them are lovely.
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