%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Walk through his own boulevard... Welcome to Matt's Blog |
| In my earliest memory I am sitting in the small space between the sofa and the wall, holding my sister's hand as she cries into her knees. One arm is about her three year old shoulders, my five year old fingers rubbing her arm as comfortingly as I can. She has a couple of dark bruises scratching her perfect pale skin and I know I have nothing better. We are crying in our safest space. As time has gone on it's strange to think that now I am the one who is crying, with her fourteen year old arm about my sixteen year old shoulders as she holds my hand. As I start the dainty dance of the dark flight down. She named out life the dark flight down after a song in a book... Seems quite apt now... As I comtemplate the final show down, the seventh step, the last dance. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
