I’ve been thinking . . .
I know that on that last day, I will look upon what went before and see that every hurt I caused could have been avoided, if only I had a little more unconditional love to go around.
The words — words that I wrote in beauty and wonder came from love. . . . But sharp, thoughtless replies could not have left their mark, if I had lived the idea of unconditional love at a trying moment.
The father’s hand that held mine gave me unconditional love. I knew it in my soul, in my fingers. I might have passed that love on with a touch, a kind word, a care to someone’s feelings.
If only . . .
I will be the writer that strives to keep alive the music of the language, to hold head and heart together in the words, and to write with hope and passion that one person is better because he or she read what I wrote. — — Contract with Lisa.
On that last day I will have lived it. I will be that writer, that human being.
I have the power to make a life better through the unconditional love inside me.