I've realized that my life is a performance; I do things sideways, ever conscious of how they will appear to passersby. I hope I have been putting on a good show so far.
And still she refuses to show her face. I wonder if her light will ever again grace the earth, to scream through the leaves of cottonwood trees and with the wind make shadows dance against tall grasses. I wonder.
Invisible Ink and writing in the dark.