Do you ever wonder what people will say about you when you are gone?
April has been every ounce of cruelty promised in the poem below. I am watching out my window as the wind blows snow slightly to the west, bound and determined to snub the remaining tulips, daffodils, and hyacinth. My mood is as grim as the sky. In between surgeries. At a crossroads in my marriage. Buried in self doubt. Moored only by my son, drifting on a sea of grey, where there are days that even he drifts from me. .....
I think they will just say that I was a sad woman.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME