When I was younger, I had brash and bravado.  Now that I'm older I am cautious, a bit fearful, wary of what I say and to whom I say it.

My tongue has stilled but my mind has not.

I have seen more.  I am more choosy about what I remember, and how I remember it.  I am stronger, and hope to convince the rest of my self that this is true.

My aunt died, I wrote about her here.  I want to have pansies added to my body, ink pressed into flesh so that my body will remember someone I'll never forget.  Maybe a few cornflowers to invoke her eyes.  A pink, red flower for the lips ever painted.

If my mind is a garden I worry that it needs weeding and tending to.