Does a sentence truly end the moment there's a period or question mark? What if a thought could last longer than a rock being skipped across a faceless lake in Montana? On August 2, 2013 I sat inside Elevation Blakeney and penned out an unprotected view of today's modern survivor. Today. December 19, 2013. I read what had been written four months earlier and couldn't believe how much it sounded like one of my songs brought to life on December 5, 2010. Fascinating to me isn't what we say. But rather. How we use the words to help heal what we can't see. When in reality. It's always been there.