A long preparation for something that always happens: i.e., death.
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A long preparation for something that always happens: i.e., death.
I tell story of a village in India
https://www.xlibris.com/.../833469-misunderstood-insanity
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Stories that began in the heart of the South African lowveld.
Poet and Artist ✫ Jay Mora-Shihadeh
"To be loved and love at the highest count, means to lose all the things I can't live without. Let it be known that I will choose to lose, it's a sacrifice, but I can't live a lie" -Adele-
Creativity meeting intrinsic memories
Benjamin Grossman 
Welcome back! —CC
Thanks a lot. It’s nice to cross words again.
You bet. I look forward to new b-jams.
My next door neighbor died relatively young about three years ago. When she told me she had cancer, she was quick to add, “Don’t tell me you’re sorry, tell me jokes instead.”
Ooops! I meant to add. She seemed to me prepared.
That’s sad and sweet. And it’s tough to remember, but: death is really another part of life.