There tucked away in my hand-made life are the prayers of healing, the notes to remind myself of things I cannot forget. I have this see through life, it is like a heart on a sleeve, it does not hide, nor does it jump up and down flashing a big bright label. Simple days make up the pattern that show me the paradise within. Dried roses without their thorns, moments passed, leaving a fragrance that I can recall and smile upon, and heed not the prick of the thorn upon tender skin. Within each of us their is a treasure, worthy of holding up and placing on the altar of life. Is your altar transportable?
Being back in my childhood home my thoughts turn around family, the life I had when I lived here. The familiar objects tell me stories I do not hear in France, nor do they share the same meaning. I look at things I have seen a million times before, and memories flood my head taking me to places where in France the river does not run.
Where does the damn burst in you, where does the flood gate open? Have you ever been carried away by a rush of memories, causing you to forget where you are? Reminding you who you have become?
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