Love is the cure,
for your pain will keep giving birth to more pain
until your eyes constantly exhale love
as effortlessly as your body yields its scent.

~Rumi

I sat in therapy on Thursday and shed my skin.  I took all the veils off because that is the place we've finally reached and I stated my case, one after another, and at the end she said what I would have wanted to hear in the past, what I wanted to hear now I guess except now I didn't have to hear it anymore because I knew it, felt it on my own inside me and trusted those feelings.  Tonight I sat in Avery Fisher Hall and listened to the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra open with Brahms' Violin Concerto in D major and was transported back to a waiting room, to an office, to memories of a person whose colorful vitality and essence make my heart feel whole.  And all these memories came flooding back of a past over a decade ago and the safety deposit box that held my tears, hopes, dreams, sorrows...that held me.  If there was any way to stop time in that place so that I could visit that office on a regular basis I would.  These memories have been on the edge of my perception the last few days after an old college friend sent me an article that referenced that place.  And those memories juxtaposed next to these other thoughts about my more recent past provide two stark differences of how people "care" about you and what that care looks like.  When I think back to that place, that neighborhood holds breaths of mine from vastly different ages....preschool, kindergarten, 2nd grade, eighteen, falling in love for the first time, turning 21, and I sit and wonder now will I ever meet a man who will actually care and want to know all this about me, those things that make me hold my breath for an extra second.