151. Promises, promises
"...closed my eyes, leaned back,and let the music touch me. It took me up, hung me over a precipice with my fingernails clutching at a boulder, caught me as I plunged, set me firmly onto my feet, stroked my hair, spoke softly into my ear, promised me I was safe."
From the It's Only a Book project in which I'm deconstructing my 2003 book, Grace: A Memoir, and turning it into art.
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