To love is to make

yourself vulnerable.

If you are brave enough

 to love,

sometimes

you get hurt,

but no one walks

through life

 untouched.

 

*it’s not much of a poem, but at least it is a sign that I’m thinking, even in the midst of a hurried schedule. My brain aches to write but mountains of paper work hinder me. Oh well, those mountains of paper work are required for my job and I did choose my job. I suppose it, too, is a form of art in its own way. At the very least, it is deifinitely a science.