People Make The Rules Of Society, Not

Time Doesn't Heal Scars As Most People Commonly Think. It Simply Makes Them Firmer, Stiffer. One Must Accept It And Not Hope To Mend And Return To What He Or She Once Was.

It Is So Appropriate To Color Hope Yellow, Like The Sun We Seldom Saw. And As I Begin To Copy From The Old Memorandum Journals That I Kept For So Long, A Title Comes As If Inspired. 'open The Window And Stand In The Sunshine.' Yet, I Hesitate To Name Our Story That. For I Think Of Us More As Flowers In The Attic.

People Never Really Died. They Only Went On To A Better Place, To Wait A While For Their Loved Ones To Join Them. And Then Once More They Went Back To The World, In The Same Way They Had Arrived The First Time Around.

And Somewhere In That Crimson-colored Never-never Land Where I Pirouetted Madly, In A Wild And Crazy Effort To Exhaust Myself Into Insensibility, I Saw That Man, Shadowy And Distant, Half-hidden Behind Towering White Columns That Rose Clear Up To A Purple Sky. In A Passionate Pas De Deux He Danced With Me, Forever Apart, No Matter How Hard I Sought To Draw Nearer And Leap Into His Arms, Where I Could Feel Them Protective About Me, Supporting Me ... And With Him I'd Find, At Last, A Safe Place To Live And Love.

Promises Are Lies Wrapped In Pretty Ribbons -cinnamon