When I was lonely, confused and angry, the ocean was always there, a vast salty poultice sucking the poison from my system.
Time doesn't click on and on at the stroke. It comes and goes in waves and folds like water; it flutters and sifts like dust, rises, billows, falls back on itself. When a wave breaks, the water is not moving. The swell has traveled great distances but only the energy is moving, not the waves. Perhaps time moves through us and not through it.
The kids are all we’ve got. They’re what we are.