How satisfying it is to leave a mark on a blank surface. To make a map of my movement - no matter how temporary.

Something about being rejected at Church Camp felt so much more awful than being rejected at school.

And that's my comfort--that someone else was there and experienced the same thing. How else could I know it was real and not merely a dream?

I wanted a heaven. And I grew up striving for that world-- an eternal world- that would wash away my temporary misery.

Except heaven is a hope , and eden is a memory .

Underwater, we're drowning victims, struggling over and under each others' bodies. But above, we bob with the tide,undercurrents pulling us just far enough apart ,so that we're drifting parallel but not together.

Pressed against her I can hear eternity -- hollow, lonely spaces and currents that churn ceaselessly, and the fallen snow welcomes the falling snow with a whispered "Hush".

What does the breathtaking view of the ocean mean without you?

Barely grazing, detouring, then connecting.

Shame is always easier to handle if you have someone to share it with.

We experience a discomfort that may be foreign to others, but that pain opens up a world of beauty. Wouldn't you think?