Away From The Bright Motion Of The

He Carried Paul Inside And Up The Stairs. He Gave Him A Drink Of Water And The Orange Chewable Aspirin He Like And Sat With Him On The Bed, Holding His Hand...this Was What He Yearned To Capture On Film: These Rare Moments Where The World Seemed Unified, Coherent, Everything Contained In A Single Fleeting Image. A Spareness That Held Beauty And Hope And Motion - A Kind Of Silvery Poetry, Just As The Body Was Poetry In Blood And Flesh And Bone.

Either Things Grow And Change Or They Die.

The Thing Is, I Used To Like That: Feeling Special Because I Knew Something No One Else Did. It's A Kind Of Power, Isn't It, Knowing A Secret? But Lately I Don't Like It So Much, Knowing This. It's Not Really Mine To Know, Is It?

Grief, It Seemed, Was A Physical Place.

He'd Kept This Silence Because His Own Secrets Were Darker, More Hidden, And Because He Believed That His Secrets Had Created Hers.