By Judith Bader Jones
R.I.P. Paul Wayne Masterson
Many moons ago, in the town of my youth, he said, I Love You, to my fifteen-year-old self. This week, surrounded by his loving family in Louisiana, he died. I took out his old I Love You and repeated it to my garden.
I Love You's rest stored away in my heart's vault- for safe keeping. Some worrisome days just need to hear those sweet words repeated again and again.