Chapter 38 - In need of black ink

My printer is out of black ink. I have three books to print and I can't, because my printer is out of black ink. What am I supposed to do now?

I'd write, but my writing lately has been crap. I'd draw, but it's been ages; I'm afraid of what'll come out. I'd go out and buy more ink, but I've just quit my job and my bank account is in the red.

A whole lot of buts. I'm on the road to failure.

But Paris isn't supposed to be the city of failure. It's supposed to be more than that, something else, tho I don't know what. But not failure.

How did I get this far, this far down this road, this road to failure?

Things are on that downturn again. Perhaps something good is around the corner once again.

Or maybe I just need to get my hands on some black ink.

Chapter 37 - In retrospect

If given the choice between walking through life blindly, feeling out each step as I go, allowing for life's little surprises, or knowing ahead of time what was to come and what might be found around every corner, I know that I would opt for blindness.

Blindness allows for other senses to come into play.

It allows my fingers to feel, my nose to smell, my ears to hear. It allows my heart to be honest, my soul to be true, and my smile to come from within. It just lets life happen.

I am not a blind woman. But I lead my life as if I were.

The evening I laid my eyes on him, I did not project my hopes. The night he took my hand, I felt nothing more than his skin. The morning that we kissed, it was his smell that drew me in. And in the days that followed, we did not kid who we were. Within six months, we met, befriended one another, decided we were more, and so we wed. No games. No confusions. No doubts.

I said yes because I felt him in my heart; I had never strained to see him with my eyes.

They say love is blind. I say blindness is love.