Your words fall... into the deep crevices of my fissured heart and keep it from splitting open some days.
I've been wondering a bit if things started to fall, because I picked the word reach. I naively thought I'd get to choose what I'd reach for... not perhaps, what would reach me. Or that I'd be reaching up, not out. I thought I picked the word, but perhaps it picked me?
When things fall... I am finding out it isn't always such a bad thing. I'm finding they may be shifting simply to re-order themselves into a far better arrangement than I alone could have conjured myself.
My entryway table was begging to be let in on a bit of spring and Easter decorating.