This time last year.

When the leaves turn and gray skies return to be a permanent fixture, my mind goes to them. Those who shattered me and left me to pick up my own pieces. The "this time last year" can cripple you, with its memories drowning you when you thought that you could swim, or it can bring you above the surface with the realization of how far you've come.

"That's why you should be a writer; you don't need anyone else," he said.

And I listened. I'm an old, grumpy soul with an affection for peanut butter&jelly who firmly believes in alone time. Cynicism, pretty smells and good food are what fuel my fire. Physically eighteen, living my hopes and dreams in the place I swore I'd never end up. Jesus is my homeboy and I tell my family everything. There will be jokes, there will be snark and maybe even an inspirational tear or two. Your guess is as good as mine.