My Little Brown Book of Fears, Tears, Et Cetera
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She felt drained, as old and heavy as a stone despite her forty-four years. It had been a bad day in a long succession of bad days. Somehow along the way life had become very difficult…
She was seated at the vanity in her spacious bedroom, staring into the lite mirror. Large emerald green eyes set wide apart in a heart shaped face looked back at her. She had a small full mouth startling red against the pallor of her skin, while her long thick hair was very fair as to be almost silver. It was a year since he had gone. He just disappeared one day, and inside she saw herself crouched in the bottom corner of her soul screaming silently; “Don’t leave me, please love me!” For many months she had wanted to ball up like an unborn baby and stay inside of her soul. She wanted to withdraw her membership in the human race. “Maybe all of our training and talk about love were lies told to us as children, to keep us from despair. Maybe there is no love in the world.” She thought.
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About the Book
It was a year since he had gone. He just disappeared one day, and inside she saw herself crouched in the bottom corner of her soul, screaming silently, “Don’t leave me, please love me!” For many months, she had wanted to ball up like an unborn baby and stay inside of her soul. She wanted to withdraw her membership in the human race. “Maybe all of our training and talk about love were lies told to us as children, to keep us from despair. Maybe there is no love in the world,” she thought. She pulled the old, ragged letter from the top vanity drawer. It was a year old now and still no address to mail it to.
About the Author
After being deserted with four children, no job, no car, and no family, she was alone to somehow raise four children. There were many miracles in her life. Her youngest child, the only girl, suffered second- and thirddegree burns over 50 percent of her body at age two, and they lost everything in a house fire. Those years of keeping her family together were extremely hard for her, and writing was her escape.