There is no greater agony that bearing an untold story inside of you. – Maya Angelou

So this story is about sun stained cheeks and a library of memories. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. It’s about mix tapes in car rides and hand surfing in a cotton dress. It’s about letting go and holding on. It’s about folding my heart into different shapes that still doesn’t fit the mold and then singing songs while I  smooth out the creases. It’s about keeping the salty air in a bottle. It’s about love. It’s about it being like a mirror on a lake that shows me who I am. It’s about it being the clean part of a frosted window in the middle of winter, showing me who they are. It’s about hope. It’s about being able to listen. It’s about being able to use these words to grow flowers on dry soil. It’s about integrity. It’s about cleaning my glass before I drink, even if it leaves me thirsty longer. It’s about love. It’s about being fooled once, and twice, and three times and still being able to grab this world by the shirt and tell it I love it with everything in me. It’s about forgiveness sometimes. It’s about gratitude all the time. It’s about smiles and silent laughs and sing alongs and detours. It’s about plans and surprises. It’s about going to bed with a clean heart and dirty feet. It’s about writing this story every day.