Friday, January 2, 2015. I will always remember my feelings that day. I was in nursing psych class, and I knew what the lecture topic was going to be from the syllabus. I was dreading that day from the very beginning of the semester. But when I was confronted by the symptoms, I knew. The realization hit me and it was a kick in the gut. It was painful, and it made me angry. I wanted to deny it, because I had denied it for more than a decade.

هنوزم موندم که ما چه گناهی کردیم که باید انتظار کسایی. روزی ادعای عشق میکردن اما وقتی بهتر. از ما رو پیدا میکنن حتی اسم. آدم رو هم فراموش میکنن. آخه خدا تو هیچ ترفند یا راه میانبری برای رسیدن عاشق ها. اگه میخواین آخر عشق رو ببینین تو ذهنتان دلتان رو بجویید. اگه عاشق بودین اونو قطعا خواهید یافت اما اینو بگم تصورش.

Mapping aging and living, one word at a time. A Poem Inspired by Beltane. In scattered huts and houses on the hillside. Yellow lights appear in dark windows. Every morning this fire festival. Fueled by good work and breakfast. And the blaze of sun. As the new day surfaces. Or at the crossroads,. Whether we receive first light with celebration.