Humans are feelings. People are in this way distinct from all else. They are - because they have hearts and can express sentiment - different. But sometimes feeling is beyond us and we can be all else but tender. Maybe it is fear. Maybe it is something else, but without a soul to love and cry, without a need to share and enjoy there is no truly human life.
Mom's Birthday
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
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