Everything Is An Illusion; That Is The

Writing Is Literally Transformative. When We Read, We Are Changed. When We Write, We Are Changed. It's Neurological. To Me, This Is A Kind Of Magic.

Maybe I Would Become A Mermaid... I Would Live In The Swirling Blue-green Currents, Doing Exotic Underwater Dances For The Fish, Kissed By Sea Anemones, Caressed By Seaweed Shawls. I Would Have A Doliphin Friend. He Would Have Merry Eyes And Thick Flesh Of A God. My Fingernails Would Be Tiny Shells And My Skin Would Be Like Jade With Light Shining Through It I Would Never Have To Come Back Up

Maybe One Night I’ll Be Asleep And I’ll Feel A Hand Like A Dove On My Cheekbone And Feel Her Breath Cool Like Peppermints And When I Open My Eyes My Mom Will Be There Like An Angle, Saying In The Softest Voice, When You Are Born It Is Like A Long, Long Dream. Don’t Try To Wake Up. Just Go Along Until It Is Over. Don’t Be Afraid. You May Not Know It All The Time But I Am With You. I Am With You.

There’s Nowhere To Escape,” Dobey Said, Jamming His Hands Into His Pockets And Staring Into The Valley. That’s Not True, Baby,” Said Desiree. She Took His Hands And Pulled Him To Her, Wrapping Her Legs Around His Torso. She Could Feel The Sobs In Both Of Them, But Quiet, Silenced By The Kiss. They Could Escape Inside Each Other.

War Is Being Reminded That You Are Completely At The Mercy Of Death At Every Moment, Without The Illusion That You Are Not. Without The Distractions That Make Life Worth Living.