Notes to My Loves

A balm to a wounded heart or a verbal lashing to a tender one. Carefully crafted to be both inspiring and intentional they propel us to accomplish the seemingly impossible.  They are equally prideful and powerful. They can be both honorable or hateful. Calculating and cutting, they have the power to shred us. Witty and wonderful, they make our souls laugh and our hearts smile. Compassionate and carefully woven or quick tempered and flaring, they leave their mark. Quietly uttered or clanging, they are remembered. Poetic and powerful, they nestle in our hearts. Beautiful and buoyant, they are a beckoning beacon of hope. Words. Spoken by 7 billion people all over the world . We absorb them in poems. We devour them in prose. We cherish them in songs that we listen to over and over again. We buy them in cards that line the shelves on any given Tuesday. We connect to them even though they were not written by our own hand. A stranger's thoughts that mirror our own. A stranger...

     Whisperings. Visions. The yet to be, revealed in dreams of slumber. Inspiration in the most unexpected of places. All of these have bestowed upon me in my life. Sometimes I have brushed them off, for fear of sounding absurd. Other times I have pondered them, tried to analyze them, and discussed them openly with friends and family. I embrace them.  However, sometimes the inspiration seems so dreamlike and distant that we are sure that is all it is. We wait and wait, and NOTHING. We become tired, testy, and let the dream die. A fading memory or wish of what might have been.      This is a story of an inspiration. Of a strong need to complete something that was so foreign to me, yet needed to be done. I had no idea what would become of it, or why I was compelled to do it. But I listened to the whisperings. I was overcome with a need to finish what I started. So I worked diligently. I didn't stop until it was done.       It all starte...