Joining Stories

Pieces of We I hold your heart in my hands, and it is my own. A broken thing, fragmented and beautiful. A fiercely delicate, dangerously sharp work of art. It is an exquisite glass sculpture. A rich jewel of life and goodness and truth. It has been dropped and stepped on until it's all jagged edges and wicked angles and shards of sweetest, painful love. It is my own heart of broken window panes and broken window pains. Da...

Sweet moments of hands held and mouths touching.... the feel of you melting into me and me sliding into your arms. Where does one begin and the other end? I do not want to see the edge. Give me that one-ness... that blending.... tender words that mean more than a moment. But then.... the fever of urgent need rises, my body presses against that sweet joining and I MUST have that wildness. You know that wildness. The wildne...