Unwritten

* She steps quietly through the door, glancing around shyly. Is any one still there? Will any body even notice that she was missing for a while? *

*Quietly she slips into the room, distracted by the cobwebs that had gathered in her absence. Brushing them aside, she grasps the pen, opens the notebook to a blank page, thinking . . . "it's like that song, the past is behind me, but the rest . . . the rest is still unwritten."


What can I say? Life happens.

I was amazed at how scary I found it to begin writing this. At how many times I've started, and stopped, and started and stopped again. But not this time. This time I hit the "post" button and push aside the internal fears.

It's my longing for a "soul tribe" that pushes me back. I miss all of you. I miss having a close friend or two to be able to confide in. So I'm back. Starting again.

I don't have much time right now, I have to scoot out the door for class shortly. But to catch you up, we have a diagnosis for Anime. Fibromyalgia. Nothing has changed or gotten better for her but we have a word, a direction to follow now. And it's not lupus, for which I am ever thankful.

If you're reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting up with my silence.

celticbuffy