Writing is my outlet, my open vein of emotion so the toxic blood can bleed out. So it's no wonder when I write it looks like inky sadness, fear or stress.
I forget to write about the butterflies and smiles because they are still dancing in my eyes and stomach and wait everybody it's 11:11 hurry and make a wish.
The words tiptoed in my mind and then they slunk away before I could write them and besides my sidetracked mind was too busy watching our horses work.
My eyes were being drawn and pulled from distraction to distraction, left with too little time to focus on fluttering phrases.
I want you to know that we were always smiling and the pain was only temporary.
The blood clotted and dried, the fury faded.
Our red and frustrated faces mellowed to a blushy pink and we were giggling with our arms wrapped around each other like long lost siblings.
We were throwing bucketfuls of water on each other soaking the leather on our feet and tossing cuss words as terms of endearment.
Raiding wardrobes like they were our own and coaching from the sidelines 'rodeo mom' style.
We drug each other and our clutzy selves around with breathy smiles on our lips and our parents were hands in the air giving up.
And dammit we were happy.
We might have had a bad day, one with gory truths and failure and it hurt.
But we were okay and without the failure there is no success.
With out the pain there is no comfort.
It's only to rid the pain that I write about it and I'll try to remember to show you the butterflies and smiles.