I had a revelation the other day.
It was about words, and how no matter what anybody ever says or does to me,
They are mine.
They are mine to keep.
They are mine to hold.
They are mine to carry around on a scrap piece of notebook paper, hidden from the world in my pocket. No one can see them, but they are there.
They are mine to recite over and over in my head until I know I will never forget them, because I put them neatly into the file folders of my mind.
They are mine to savor like a frosty ice-cream cone on a humid summer day, and they are mine to feel sweet and fresh on my tongue.
They are my company on bitter winter nights, to cuddle up with like a teddy bear, and to make me feel warm inside again.
They never die like a plant or get old like clothes.
They stay, like faithful friends, and they are there to catch me when I fall.