... every time I think of Deva... it is a feeling of intense light that floods me with unconditional love for life itself.
When I was 5 years old, for Christmas, my father gave a gift to the family. Nobody had the right to open anything without being opened.
Not only was I killing myself, I was killing my parents.
We learn too late that it's never too late to follow what drives us, that money will never be a tool and not a goal to pursue forever because it brings neither the best memories nor the best comfort of life, the link to others and to oneself and the congruence between what one thinks and does will bring it.
My scars, my pain, are a legacy of the love I had for this person, the relationship we had the chance to live together. And if the wound is deep, it means that this love was too. So, so be it.