...A story. Stories softly told. Personal. truthful. told to listening ears. It seems so many people are standing on their own personal embankment, yelling into the roar of weather created from countless shouting voices. Through the din, all that reaches anyone is anger. It's easy to get there. Sometimes I stand firmly on my own stone, and lean into the noise, fists and teeth clenched, brow furrow, pressure surging from my wounded heart fueling anger. And, for me, this is it... my wounded heart drives me beyond defenses to lash out against weapons I believe you possess. But, in a quiet moment, when I look deeply and calmly into your eyes and you into mine, all that remain are reflections. Ours.
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