Journal Became A Sanctuary Where I Could

Soul. The Word Rebounded To Me, And I Wondered, As I Often Had, What It Was Exactly. People Talked About It All The Time, But Did Anybody Actually Know? Sometimes I'd Pictured It Like A Pilot Light Burning Inside A Person--a Drop Of Fire From The Invisible Inferno People Called God. Or A Squashy Substance, Like A Piece Of Clay Or Dental Mold, Which Collected The Sum Of A Person's Experiences--a Million Indentations Of Happiness, Desperation, Fear, All The Small Piercings Of Beauty We've Ever Known.

You Can't Stop Your Heart From Loving, Really -- It's Like Standing Out There In The Ocean Yelling At The Waves To Stop.

Drifting Off To Sleep, I Thought About Her. How Nobody Is Perfect. How You Just Have To Close Your Eyes And Breathe Out And Let The Puzzle Of The Human Heart Be What It Is.

In A Way, Humans Are Not Made Of Skin And Bones As Such, As We're Made Of Stories.

You Don't Have To Place Your Hand On Mary's Heart To Get Strength And Consolation And Rescue, And All The Other Things We Need To Get Through Life. You Can Place It Right Here On Your Own Heart. Your Own Heart.