I Was Not Ladylike, Nor Was I

We’d Hoped For Love Of A Different Kind, Love That Knew And Forgave Our Human Frailty But Did Not Miniaturize Our Grander Ideas Of Ourselves.

We Always Worry About The Wrong Things, Don't We?

. . . He Felt Himself Entering A Moment So Real He Could Only Run Toward It, Shouting.

I Was Living My Own Future And My Brother's Lost One As Well. I Represented Him Here Just As He Represented Me There, In Some Unguessable Other Place. His Move From Life To Death Might Resemble My Stepping Into The Kitchen - Into Its Soft Nowhere Quality And Foggy Hum. I Breathed The Dark Air. If I Had At That Moment A Sense Of Calm Kindly Death While My Heart Beat And My Lungs Expanded, He Might Know A Similar Sense Of Life In The Middle Of His Ongoing Death.

What Do You Do When You're No Longer The Hero Of Your Own Story?