Ink and Bone

Finley’s body was a living canvas of ink and bone. It would grow and change, evolve. It would age and fade, it would grow softer, get bigger, shrink and shrivel, as bodies will.

Pain was a reminder that she was alive, that she drew breath into her lungs and was tied to the world of the living.

Sometimes it’s when you think you know that you stop seeing.

Fear had a way of aging people, making them look vulnerable.

Maybe that alone was the foundation of a good marriage, an endless willingness to forgive and to love in spite of ourselves, an ability to ride the highs and endure the lows, the decision to always go home.

She knew him in a way that you can only know someone you love totally.

He looked so young, so much like when she’d first loved him.

We can strive to alter negative thought patterns.

The consequences for some mistakes would not be undone.

He was a wolf, a ranger, being asked to live the life of a Labradoodle.