It has kept my secrets, blanketed my soul, and been the very breathe of my being.... Like a lonely dancer beckoning me to join, it stood in front of me. I encircled it, admired it, and ran. No one to blame but myself. It was my own personal child waiting to be born by only me, yet at it's crowning I murdered it. But, do they not say that in order for something to live something else must die. Does a seed not fall into the ground a dead creation springing forth into life?

I sit here alone with my friend staring into the very eyes of a confused and frightened destiny, stroking the very hand that has lead me to the answers in my own mind. I wait for it's reply, I yearn for it to speak to me again and yet even now it does not betray me for in it's own misery of misunderstanding and being silenced once again it writes, it inhales, it begins rising up within me allowing me to see direction and knowing that somehow, someway there will come a time, but now must wait....

So, with that said I will allow my wounded friend to heal. I will allow my pen to rest against the paper till again it stands and ask me to dance on the open floor with

the world to watch and to enjoy....