brookecutler2

  • Terrible

    Life has been terrible since I stopped breathing. Stopped writing, that is. Stopped opening my heart and setting the truth of it free. My soul aches at times like these, but I smile and I laugh, and I excuse life… Continue reading

  • Fragments

    Fragments of time show me who I am. Moments, unless, of course, I lose them also to the violent speed of things. I am ‘me’ again, for this moment. Maybe it will last a while, if I’m lucky, this sensation… Continue reading

  • Grieve

    Just to breathe. It’s all I’ve come for, to release. To become the wind I know myself to be when I fully let go of what holds me back. An hour ago, I watched my little boy’s grade four class… Continue reading

  • The Evening

    I’ve just rolled into bed, after a day that tore my heart open. I read an article in the news (which I normally don’t, for this very reason) and its content was so shocking I wouldn’t dare repeat it here.… Continue reading

  • The River and Me

    The river became me. Doesn’t everyone feel the river like a pure cold balm? Perfect in essence. Sure in flow. I am I. But I know the river deeper because… I am Autistic. I am different in the way I… Continue reading

  • Life, However It Looks

    Life, however it looks, is the question. Love is always the answer. Continue reading

  • Stay Home

    The soft hum of an opening heart. Barely a whisper. Barely a moment of life unfiltered, but enough. Closed eyes, whisper. Come home. Stay home. Continue reading

  • Bird Song

    When I am the pure song of the bird, I am limitless. The wind may bend my tune, at times, but I soar, above, beyond, eternal. How sweet it must be to remain pure bird song. I, for now, must… Continue reading

  • A Dog’s Life

    A neighbour from across the way walked by as I stood in the driveway with the leaf blower. ‘Hi, Brooke,’ he said with a gentle smile. He was out for a walk with the family dog, a beautiful old Labrador,… Continue reading

  • Broken Hearts

    ‘Why do we do such terrible things to each other?’ said the softly spoken man at the library, who somehow knew I’d be the one person in the room who would listen. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, looking directly into… Continue reading