Hold not to vengeance, for it is not yours; turn a beatific smile on hatred and change the colors from gray to gold. Press the hurt in silent words to paper and prayer; embrace a promise of inner peace, for no one hears you clearly now.
I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting for a future I’d worked hard for to materialize, only to discover my future was entirely different . . . and better. Then I sat back and smiled. What a thing.
I was looking at the wrong future.
Blood.
My soul cannot possibly bleed any more rhythmically through my skin, over my hair, to my clothes, to the ground, clinging everywhere, every moment, looking at me, every droplet: “What now?”
Go, I say. Go.
I can’t help you now.
Sometimes my heart beats 
for just one other heart, so small and tiny, yet so massive and astounding, that I cannot contain this feeling nor expand it . . . there is no boundary to its intensity. It is love unconditional.
~~ Helen Ruby
I’d forgotten how much I enjoy Erma Bombeck’s writing. This one gave me a laugh today . . .
When mothers talk about the depression of the empty nest, they’re not mourning the passing of all those wet towels on the floor, or the music that numbs yourteeth, or even the bottle of capless shampoo dribbling down the shower drain. They’re upset because they’ve gone from supervisor of a child’s life to a spectator. It’s like being the vice president of the United States. — Erma Bombeck
There comes a point–one you’d never think was possible–when you stop caring, just a little bit, to save yourself.
-HR
Just joined Wattpad, where you can find free reading, including mine. Find me at http://wattpad.com/helenruby. More midriff fiction to come!
