Please, please don’t dry your tears.
My hungry heart lurches toward those beautifully real stories as they travel down your cheeks and puddle in your hands.
Hope stirs at the profound expression of what moves about the deepest reaches of your form.
Life wells up and spills over, boldly testifying to a precious truth: a woman’s mightiest gift is also her loveliest.
But, then and every time, brisk words and fingers wipe away the power that briefly drenched smooth skin, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry.”
How ever did we begin to believe that our most powerful weapon is an unattractive burden?
In a world that mocks purity, steals glory, numbs life and drives fear, only one thing defies it.
Fierce tenderness. A vibrant, vulnerable soul.
Restore it and never apologize for it.