The small launch bay was littered with debris. A powerful breeze tore at his black silk shirt as Kilroy made his way across it to the waiting shuttle, evoking a feeling like the fingers of fate were caressing his body. __he Hammer_ stepped over the body of one of his fallen crew without a trace of care or concern. The air was rushing past him, like a wind, out into space through the wounds in the side of his ship. Fatigued and desperate, the Hammer was running out of options. His ship was a mess, holed in a dozen places, the life support systems failing. Weakened hull sections were collapsing in pressure bursts. The vibrations that shook the deck beneath him now were not from the engines that once drove her forward, but now from the explosions down below, tearing her apart.

All of my secrets and scars and wishes and dreams can live together in this one body without shame, without blame, and without fear. I am all loved, all accepted, and all in service to God. In his eyes, regardless of what I did or didn__ do today, I am loved. I am His, so I am enough.

My scars tell a story. They are a reminder of times when life tried to break me, but failed. They are markings of where the structure of my character was welded.

Don__ you think it__ actually harder for you . . . to adapt, I mean? Because you__e done all that stuff?___re you asking me if I wish I'd never done it?_____ just wondering if it would have been easier for you. If you__ led a smaller life. To live like this, I mean.___ will never, ever regret the things I've done. Because most days, if you__e stuck in one of these, all you have are the places n your memory that you can go to._ He smiled. It was tight, as if it cost him. __o if you__e asking me would I rather be reminiscing about the view of the caste from the minimart, or that lovely row of shops down off the roundabout, then, no. My life was just fine, thanks.

Don't show a friend your gift, or your bag of money if you still want to maintain your relationship, but if nay, go on, and all you'll see is hate and jealousy, and you'll fight with him in the street like a dog and all you'll feel is regret.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.