Happy and sad are not opposites.

They are actually very similar emotions: they convey deep care, strong significance.

Their opposite is apathy.

As happiness has come my way with feedback from publishers and hope of book(s), I wept.

Deep, deep sadness. A wrenching ache of joy.

I wanted to tell Robb. I wanted him to sweep me off my feet in that enveloping way he could. I wanted dinner out. I wanted him.

I ordered pizza and watched Netflix with two little boys. They fell asleep on the couch. Their sleeping faces make me hurt with love.

So many emotions, all vying for the lead. All I could feel was lonely.

Writing is my therapy, but a book is not my cure.

As the story emerges as beauty from ashes, it does not bury my ache.

I guess I thought it would.

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