How do you piece together a broken soul—a spirit so crushed and battered from the weight of guilt and self loathing that the only conceivable way to keep breathing—to keep placing one foot in front of the other—is to erect four solid, impenetrable walls to protect your heart? Simple: you don’t. At least that’s what I thought. The change was almost too faint to notice at first but it began with her. It’s always been about her... moreHow do you piece together a broken soul—a spirit so crushed and battered from the weight of guilt and self loathing that the only conceivable way to keep breathing—to keep placing one foot in front of the other—is to erect four solid, impenetrable walls to protect your heart? Simple: you don’t. At least that’s what I thought. The change was almost too faint to notice at first but it began with her. It’s always been about her. Whether she knew it that night when she came to the bar and approached me after the show, I don’t know. But she started something inside me that I couldn’t fight or resist until it was too late. With her smile, her forgiveness, her friendship, Caylee Sawyer saved me that night and every day that followed. Patiently she showed me that the grief I’d buried under a mountain of a lifestyle of 'not-giving-a-damn' still needed an outlet—to be acknowledged. To be released. She saved me. I just hope I don’t screw it up. less
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