Only when it is dark enough, you can see the stars.

It was first the eyes that drew me to her depths unknown to me there are waves in there thoughts darker than night she'll tell me to go when she cries for me to stay abandoned. alone. full. stronger, harder, tougher It's not the emptiness that carries her it's the longing to be full again Once left over and over the pattern has been set repeating without sympathy without giving in a deeper cut when she sees the blood the wounds make sense how can I hurt without bleeding the warmth spills over spills from her veins how do we apply pressure to a wound you can not see my words echo in silence her smile resides within me a scream escapes my lips needs I cannot fulfill our eyes hold one moment longer until the cloud passes over -For Rosemary

"I have saved things much less beautiful than this," Brooke says as he stares at his homemade despidida card in a small tucked away bar in Bellas Artes. We watched him read it, touch his fingertips to the cloth front and smile, "thank you" he looks up and smiles with his eyes. Pablo stood and gave a very funny and yet heart wrenching speech of the last two years of knowing our director of the small NGO that has slowly become my second life in Chile. I am sure it had something to do with the dark lighting of the room, the 40 or so people crowded into the corner, the bottles of wine floating about the table, or watching Brooke's eyes as he opened his card, but I felt the warmth rush over. I understood everything that Pablo was saying, and I flashed back to a little over 10 months ago walking into a strange cold city with not much of a clue of what was happening. Time is nothing but what we make of it, if I didn't know that 10 months had gone by, I would tell y...