The Unfinished Quilt
It is my birthday. I think everyone assumes I should be partying. Or even maybe I think that. But I am not. How many other people in the world feel incredibly depressed on their birthdays? I have been wondering this all day. People try. I love that they give. Is it because empathic people are so used to giving they cannot receive? I do not know. So much change. I think sometimes I should be awarded for having walked my trials. Shouldn't I be blessed on this side, God? Have I not given enough of my life? Wasn't the pain of what I went through for so many years enough that I now deserve a form of Utopia? I am tired of waiting. Waiting for Love to be with me, to live with me. The silence inside the home is deafening. The ticking of the wall clock beside me is so loud. My girls happily playing I presume, in that man's home - that man I do not know at all. Why does he not just live his life? Move on? Why must he continue? Because it is about winning. It is about pleasu...