It was the kind of moon that I would want to send back to my ancestors and gift to my descendants so they know that I too, have been bruised...by beauty.

Fire doesn’t think about who deserves to burn.

It simply asks one question:

Love handed me a rose and then drove the thorns through my palm.

I kept it anyway.

I surrender myself to everything. I love, I feel pain, I struggle.

No, I did not regret the past. My regret was for the present day, for all the countless hours and days that I lost in mere passivity and that brought me nothing, not even the shocks of awakening.

When the shadows fall in that sweet space between the dark and day.