I am lying in my bed, listening to the pittypat of raindrops gently landing on the windowsill. It’s cold out, as the universe trades one day for the next. Swaddled in my fluffy comforter, I feel a sense of peace as my mind races into the wee hours.

Though my eyelids are growing heavy, my mind will not allow sleep just yet. Random thoughts fly through my brain like so many shooting stars. If I stare at one too long, I’ll miss the next, so I allow myself to play among the rights and wrongs and maybes that display themselves in my solitary panorama.

I admit that the display is blinding, at times. Yet, somehow, when it’s over and I’ve explored the beautiful absurdity of it all, I feel centered and satisfied and pleased. After all, why can’t fairies spread their magic in raindrops? And, why can’t love sparkle on the wings of butterflies? Purple ones. Legitimate questions, in my view. And, why can’t there be a love out there for me? One with the strength and goodness to subdue the darkness within me.

…and this woman was meant for the Strongman…the man who’d not open the door. In his house, she will abide, all in good time.

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