Even The Air Feels Different On Halloween,

I Worry Hope Will Crush Me, The Way Love Has So Many Times Before. Are They So Different, Hope And Love? O & E In The Same Place, Half Of The Other In Each Word. Both Swimming In Unknowns. I’ve Been Through The Big Changes. These Ones Should Seem Easier In Comparison, I Should Be More Prepared, But They Don’t And I’m Not. Sometimes I Feel Like A Broken-wing Butterfly, Clinging To A Window Screen. Afraid To Let Go. Afraid To Stay. Wondering How Much Wing Is Enough To Fly.

Old Stories Have A Habit Of Being Told And Retold And Changed. Each Subsequent Storyteller Puts His Or Her Mark Upon It. Whatever Truth The Story Once Had Is Buried In Bias And Embellishment. The Reasons Do Not Matter As Much As The Story Itself.

She Turns Her Head, Bailey Catches Her Eye, And She Smiles At Him. Not In The Way That One Smiles At A Random Member Of The Audience When One Is In The Middle Of Performing Circus Tricks With Unusually Talented Kittens But In The Way That One Smiles When One Recognizes Someone They Have Not Seen In Some Time.

The Fact That People Are Already Reading And Loving Something I Wrote Is Still Hard To Believe.

The Most Difficult Thing To Read Is Time. Maybe Because It Changes So Many Things.