Five and Counting.

Before I dive into that bag of hope (see previous post), let's slash it. No, rather, just an itty-bitty, delicious incision ..(...in hope, not the bag. God save the bag!)

I've hoarded my pretties for years, fearing the rejection debilitating and guaranteed. A new me decided to set them free. So far, they've only stepped out and scuttled straight back into my sweaty clutches. But something happened while they were gone. They are not my pure princesses anymore. They returned to me affected, but not afflicted;  touched, but not tainted. And it pleases me.

Because in the rejection, a confession: I read that. I didn't like it. But I read it. 
And that pleases me.

words affected.