Asylum.

Trust List.

Strength.

I need you.

Still.

My previous days' bleeding has stopped.  I just hope I don't pick the scab.

Retreat.

Indeed.

Love through text, "Aw honey.  I'm so sorry.  I totally understand, if that's any consolation.  They don't deserve your attention.  Please try not to let them get you down.  Your reality and feelings are important, and they're your own."

Trust.

Honesty; It's my super power.

Perhaps it's time to look at what I would gain by being part of the hate regime.

High School.

She was hen pecked to the point where she believed her life is not worth anyone's time.

wicked stares, whispers of giggles spread the hate ...

This 15 year old girl, who's hands shook, sitting in a steel desk in a marketing class, finally collapsed from the overdose of pills.  My teenager who wanted to look pretty when she was found deceased.  She prepared her hair and make-up for the day's big event.

it's all about the hair ...

Those pills didn't kill her, they only set her up for the support network that began the journey of healing.

She's here with us now.

Sitting with her tears, investigating thoughts that roam her weightless psyche, "Maybe if I was nicer, they'd think twice about hurting me?"

No, they won't little one.  You're already that person.

Nice.

but nice finishes last ...

Your barren passage is not the same as 'theirs'.  Their road is well traveled.  It's course is cut straight, clear and precise so that none of the sheep may be lost.  Theirs is paved with black tar for soft, smooth joy rides.

Our path?

We must cut our own path.  I see very few remnants of those before me, yet thistles have been cut to the ground.  Possibly they were held back so as not to scrape the body following them?  It's quite a rocky trail, so we must watch our footing.

Hard to see where it leads to, as there are many trees in our lush, green forest blocking our view.

However, here there is beauty; delicate birds sing your songs, placid frogs croak and trees creak from the wind's effortless muscle.

It's so very quiet otherwise.  So very alone.

It leaves us time to think about what is meaningful.

Forced respite.

All I need to do is keep walking, and I will find a Trust List's lean-to, and take shelter in if it rains again.

What I don't find here, I can look for when I meet with those of brave security.

Simple as an electronic shout.  My fingers have the power.

I can send my message through air waves.  Tiny particles that make their way to each of of those who exist in fortitude.

They were once on this trail.

They may be lost again.

Perhaps it will be my cabin they come to for asylum next time?

I'll keep the fire stoked for their arrival.