There was a video of a young woman who was asked why she wrote so many love poems.
The young girl responded honestly and with an answer that made sense to me.
She writes love poems instead of suicide notes.
Well done, I say.
Her answer is excellent, I tell you.

I am the same.
I write about love
or you
and I write about my love because the adverse or the opposite is unthinkable to me.

I understand what it means to feel lost or elsewhere and what t means to be or believe as if to be out of this hemisphere and more, I get how it is to seem like a stranger while alive and well and living here in familiar territory.

My best memory of times when I was supposedly well or fine enough to be welcomed is when I was alone or by myself. I chose to break free like a lion or a tiger who escaped and broke free from his cage. I chose the separation between myself and the crowd and so, I decided to go and find myself by walking around the streets of New York City.

The sun is later today. I looked up at the sky to watch the clouds moving overhead. and I can see the rain wants to let go and take a break for a while.
I can tell.
The sky has a different feel to me this morning. Maybe too many changes took place at once.
Or maybe everything is different now and the rain that came only served to wash away the remnants of my crazy yesterdays.

But dig it . . . 

It is strange to think that today marks 54 times that I have spun around the sun.
I have somehow managed to survive 54 trips.
54 birthdays.
54 times that I can say yes, I managed to pull off another year.
And yes, age is a funny thing.

Age is neither kind nor unfair and at the same time, age is one hell of a trip.
My body went from very small to bigger than what I expected. Also, my life has changed more times than people change sides with their political views.

I can understand the reason why people take a drink or a pill or look to find something that helps them sail beyond the concrete on the sidewalks of New York City.
I have been here for as long as I can remember. However, I have moved around from the Eastside, Westside, Uptown and as my life has turned, I am currently Downtown.
I work across the street from Ground Zero which is the spot where The Towers used to stand.

I am here at work more days than I am not here, which is how life goes when it comes to being an adult.
I look out from a big window on the 15th floor from my place of business and I look downward and see the memorial pools where the buildings used to stand.

And it all comes down to this. . .
There is only one truth and no amount of acting or pretending can change the truth

So then, what is true?
I suppose truth is often questioned because some people deny their truths and say “well, this is not true to me.”
But truth is truth.
Truth does not concern itself with us or how we think or feel about these things.
Truth is truth.
That is all.

I see no reason not to lie.
So, let’s be honest. I see no reason why anyone should deny their thoughts or their feelings.
Sometimes, you need to scream.

I see no reason why we don’t do this.
We should be able to scream if we need to scream.
We can shout when we need to shout.
And yes, I know.
I get it. I do
I understand this might not be a good look, so-to-speak.

The noises you hear in this place are not like anywhere else. I hate these rooms.
I hate hospitals or more, I cannot stand emergency rooms
I hate the tones from the nearby machines and the mumbling from the other patients.

I hate the dull groans from the sick and of course, I cannot stand the louder ones, or the cries in pain or the screams and the pleading for a nurse or a doctor to help come and help or take the pain away.
And the worst?
The worst are the quiet ones, the parents who sit helpless and scared, praying with all their might and whether they are faithless or not; everyone finds God when the life of their child is on the line. 

I have heard it said that you’ve grown when you start to find gratitude in the moments we are least grateful for.
I can appreciate that . . .
Maybe this is maturity. Or maybe this is what happens when we reach a better level of understanding.
Maybe this is what people call awareness. Or maybe the pain or the regrets found some kind of relief and subsided enough to let the resentments find peace.
Peace . . .
What a word this is.

Maybe this is the kind of growth that despite the storm and all the damages and the aftermath, something good came from something bad.