Every Little Thing Wants To Be Loved.

I Missed Rosaleen's Snoring The Way You'd Miss The Sound Of The Ocean Waves After You've Gotten Used To Sleeping With Them. I Didn't Realize How It Had Comforted Me. Quiteness Has A Strange, Spongy Hum That Can Nearly Break Your Eardrums.

I Vividly Remember The Summer Of 1964 With Its Voter Registration Drives, Boiling Racial Tensions, And The Erupting Awareness Of The Cruelty Of Racism. I Was Never The Same After That Summer.

I've Always Been A Journal-keeper. I've Always Tried To Write About How I'm Experiencing Life, And My Feelings And Thoughts.

... In The End, Goddess Is Just A Word. It Simply Means The Divine In Female Form.

In A Way, Humans Are Not Made Of Skin And Bones As Such, As We're Made Of Stories.