When the soul comes back she has seeds in her hands. They are the forgotten dreams. But not everything blooms at once. It is slow. The picture has to fill in. I didn't start painting again for a few years. Or writing poems. I did write songs.
One of my songs said "Like an angel flying close to the ground/ reaching out to scatter/ stars like seeds falling from her hands..."
I had to do some things. I was on my own for the first time. I had my own apartment. I was raising my son, alone. I was the sole breadwinner.
I spent the long hot summer in Nebraska, working for my aunt, renting from my uncle. They too helped save me. (Note that Heaven provided this plan as soon as I made the decision to leave my marriage.)
Even though I was free I sometimes felt the deepest loneliness imaginable. I felt as if I had become Loneliness.