Any Love That Is Love Is Right.

She Was No Longer A Slow Dreamer Watching The Flowers Grow. She Was A Warrior Now. Warriors Need Something To Fight For Though, Beside Their Lives, Because Otherwise Their Lives Will Not Be Worth It.

Sometimes She Wore Levi's With White-suede Fringe Sewn Down The Legs And A Feathered Indian Headdress, Sometimes Old Fifties' Taffeta Dresses Covered With Poetry Written In Glitter, Or Dresses Made Of Kids' Sheets Printed With Pink Piglets Or Disney Characters.

It Was Always A Relief When She Came Home To Him. Like Water Or Food. Like Music Or That Moment When You Cut Yourself With A Knife And Squeeze The Skin And No Blood Oozes Out.

His Own Voice Was Older Than He Was. Ancient, Unearthed From Some Mystical Subterranean Place...the Voice Seemed To Make His Whole Body Ache. Maybe It Made Him Bleed Inside. I Wondered If It Hurt, If It Burned In His Throat.

Relieved Because What I Dreaded Most In The Whole World Was Going To Happen And I Wouldn’t Have To Live With It Anymore—the Fear. There Is The Relief Of Finally Not Being Alone And The Relief Of Being Alone When No One Can Take Anything Away From You. Here She Was, My Beautiful Fear. Shiny As Crystal Lace Frost.