I have to say that this nesting thing is very over ruling. It has taken over my life. I have officially given everything I haven't worn in the last year or so away. I continue to clean out cabinets and toss things and give to Helping Hands. I have purchased organization items and have even started packing my bags for the hospital. I have to say it's fairly ridiculous.
In the midst of all of my Tasmanian devil whirlwind clean up I slowed down for a second when I came across a letter in a box in the attic. The letter was incomplete, but it still said so much. It was a letter that a young girl wrote to someone whom she missed, someone that held her heart in his hands thousands of miles away. They were oceans apart from one another seemingly during a great time of uncertainty and vulnerability in the world. The words in the letter were written from the purest of heart and spoken from a place in the soul that is rarely, if ever, opened in any human being. The letter went on to say how she missed him, how she loved him so and was almost scared to tell him how much for the fear that maybe his infatuation wasn't as strong as hers. She didn't care though, her heart was laid out on that piece paper, the sweetest love letter which was never finished or sent to her true love.
I wonder what happened to that young girl. Was she ever able to tell him how much she loved him? Did she ever see him again?
She did. They eventually married and live in a quaint small town in a comfortable house with three dogs and a baby on the way. She still loves him just as much, if not more than she did eight years ago next month when she wrote that letter she never sent from her stay in Spain right after September 11, 2001.
What a great happy to have found...