The Riot in My Heart Decides to Keep Me Open and Alive

I don't know which is worse: watching something new that breaks my heart, or listening to something old that does the same thing.

Eleven more days and I am home. I don't want this to turn into a countdown because that is not what it is meant to be. I know I will miss this and want this and wish I had done things differently once it is over, but for now I long for the same old: my bed, my shower, my own food and my own life. I miss alone time.

We passed endless streams of perfectly calm lakes on our trip today. The water was completely still, but on it raged the cloud and sunset sky, and acres of perfect pointing pines. That is exactly how I feel. If you look for water, you see the flatness and smoothness of nothing wrinkling the surface; if you look at what it is reflecting, you see something entirely different.

Another hotel tonight, and then onward. It seems mundane, but there is something growing inside me that I cannot explain. On the surface it is invisible; from another angle, it is breath-taking. When it grows to fullness...words fail.