'help Me,' Allison Says, But She Is

You Would Run Much Slower If You Were Dragging Something Behind You, Like A Knapsack Or A Sheriff.

Here We Are At The Bottom, Almost Empty. It's Like Confetti, These Dried Remnants You Find In The Street For A Party No One Invited You To. But They Used To Be, I Can Admit, Part Of Something Beautiful.

But It's Far Too Late For Us; Ring, Hair, Letters, Photographs - All Traces Of Our Love Will Be Scattered Then, Like An Anagram.

The Trouble With Talking About Irony Is, It's Such A Slippery Thing That The Second You Start Talking About It, You're A Better Example Of It Than You Are An Analyst.

The Mind Has A Thousand Eyes, And The Heart Has One:yet The Light Of A Whole Life Dies When Love Is Done.