Too late I opened the pages of a new to me book written by an author I loved. I was in a hurry to get to the pages that I just learned existed. Too late. I rushed through the forward greedy to get to the main event. But the words cut me to the quick. Too late. "Who's writing this? I know this voice." The tone, the hope, the wisdom slowed me down to savor every word. Too late. I knew it was you. You write these words like they are just for me. You write your words so I hear your voice in my head. Too late. The writer is/was dear to me. ...
Life is tough, but hope is tougher.