sister.

Yesterday it occurred to me that I am in fact, alive.
Thriving even?

Everything bursting out of me and through me and to you. And this city's a big heap of broken pieces that are so sticky they cling to anything they touch. These people are dying for community. Their souls are thirsty, their eyes are straining for the refreshing places.

And you're there, overflowing and big and wonderful and approachable and terrifying and awful and wonderful.
I shudder, because it's too much to take in. It's like when I walked into Strand bookstore yesterday and flipped through pages of new books and old pages. The scent of stories told drenched the air and it makes you shudder. There's so much potential in that room it's frightening. There's so much of me and so much not of me. So many wonderful things I'll never have the time or brain power to read or understand or even touch.

That's how I feel about you. You're a giant bookstore.



My sister is a beautiful woman and she is strong and she is wise. She's got steel eyes full of truth that are the softest and most beautiful pools you can imagine. Her fingers work talented circles and lines through design and dreaming. Big dreams and beautiful designs.

And I can't say enough. But she is a reason why I thrive.