Aging ivory goddess, 

Edges decomposed, 

Perfect imperfections, 

Unguarded and exposed.

Vulnerable and brittle,

Beauty fades to rust,

Love remains eternal,

Body returns to dust.

I’m getting to that age. The age when you realize that your petals are falling. Ha! Or the structure is weakening. I’m not fretting over it though… I’m seriously embracing every single thing that I can these days. I’ve been meeting my best friend for lunch once a week, or every other week, and today was one of those unforgettable days. And even though it feels like we’re dining “post-apocalypse,” it’s my favorite thing to do right now.

I haven’t even looked at my short story. I’ve been doing school work, binge watching Longmire, and reading the new Bob Goff book, Dream Big. It’s pretty awesome and—as usual—I’m dreaming and scheming about the possibilities that lie ahead. I’ll get there. Eventually!

Anyway, I’ve had this photograph around for awhile, a few fallen camellias on our front porch. I knew there was a hidden meaning there—somewhere—and then when someone mentioned the word “imperfections” recently, it all came together. As it should.

That’s about all for now.
Thanks for reading… I hope you enjoyed!