The sun is quite friendly today, and I intend on spending some time on my porch, like I know summer will be here. I've been buried under books all weekend, just how I like it. With my companion Jose Cuervo, and the slight anchoring of a wonderful voice that I can't figure out.

The first book I finished was very empathetic. I felt everything, even having to pause because for a second or two, it felt like someone'd been watching me and I'd been exposed. I learned something new about myself, which I tend to when I read. Last night, I understood the concepts of falling and lack of communication. I was actually a little creeped out at some point. I'd been dug up, or so it felt like. And the little pieces that I needed were somehow right in my grip. I had to repeat to myself that I AM capable of continuing to reading. And now I just feel silly. I'm not much of happy endings, but I beared it. I must admit, one of the most difficult books that I'd read.

And now, I'm alone dans ma chambre verte, waiting till I'm ready to step out.

I held the dark, and it held me back
Soft breaths to last till the morning, I thought
As the sun cries out to me
I see my roses starting to die
And I ache a different way I'd ached
That night before.