Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

Imagine falling over the edge, not once, or twice, just falling, hoping, praying you would land on something soft, like a soft light feathery cushion, to withstand what may have pushed you over the edge. I was pushed this week, pushed so hard that I expect no pillows in the end, just a rock and a hard place. Yet, somehow, today I stand, with feet planted on rocks, knowing the depths of grace. Keep this.