Today, an angel walked by, dressed as an elderly lady in a maroon beret. She smiled right into my dramatic spat with my lover in the park and said, "Have you had breakfast yet? It's a beautiful day." And I hid my face and wept. Even when I am in pain, and my world is falling apart, these things hold true. Have your breakfast. It is a beautiful day. I am here to be soft. To be crushed, and like mossy sponge, spring back to life. But stronger, more complex, more resilient each time. My strength is that I am resilient. I always come back. It is this way for the soft ones in the world. Some buckle under the eternal pressure. Some rise again. I rise again, over and over. In my own way. My rising belongs to me. Every hard thing that my softness comes into contact with becomes softer, though I may get bruised in the process. This is why flowers and mosses enthral me. Each expression of life in this great pulsating tapestry has something unique to say....