Publisher's Synopsis
As wind to wings of butterflies, I could as easily tell you truth as I could tell you lies. My truth may not be anything to you, to me this would be nothing new. Iave learned to speak out of what I think all life holds. Learned also, life does not fit anyoneas molds. You ask me truth when you cannot know what I speak. You expect me to answer and oh I do, ever so meek. But what is truth really, when it suddenly comes? Does it have trumpets resounding, does it pound your soul like the desperation of drums? I think not, no, it is quite a pitiful show of desperation from someone who does not really know. Instead we shall color a new blank page and perhaps round our worlds out. Living day by day, night by night, so that we are filled, wickedly overflowing, that we feel we must do nothing but let loose ourselves and give shout. You asked me what is truth to me and I give it to you on a silver plate. And so here you are, simply put, I am but a woman and my life is the whim of fate. So, there you have it, there is nothing more to me and nothing less. Would you take me as I am or discard me as you would a pawn in a game of chess? Enjoy my words. ~H
