On this day we'll have hope as strong as wooden ships, eternal enough to sail into the orange horizon. The past is laid out ahead.

Because when we came back from this life, we had too much to say...to say, "I've been witness to this" and point to a dimly-lit path leading into a dark forest.

Hair wet and parted--I am youth, and I speak of such things just because I like the sound of words.

Too much to say, and too much of a desire to bottle them in and replay them over and over--like some awful, but intruiging play.

Happy birthday, my Chopin...this writer's heart and thoughts are yours.

aeka at 9:33 a.m.