The wind reaches out to hold me and I let it carry me home. I feel pieces of heaven nearer than ever. It calls for me to remember the good. The parts of the story with highlighted words and scribbles in the margins. Pages torn, but used. I’m so glad I choose to read it over and over until I fall in love with every character again. I’m the hero in some parts. No one has made me a villain. I’m grateful for that. For my heart. My father always said that I have a full one- he never warned me of the sadness that comes along with it. But that’s okay too. It’s part of dreaming and waiting and loving and hoping while letting my present self live. Parts of me let go of the wind long ago. She left in the nighttime and didn’t even pack a bag. She fought through deafening noise and made a home for herself. She’s okay though- I know she is. Maybe it was never about grief, after all. The story has no end unless you force the book closed, bent pages and all.-AMT ©️