In Life We Sit At The Table

All My Life I Have Arrived Early Only To Find Myself Standing Self-consciously On A Corner, Outside A Door, In An Empty Room, But The Closer I Get To Death The Earlier I Arrive, The Longer I Am Content To Wait, Perhaps To Give Myself The False Sensation That There Is Too Much Time Rather Than Not Enough.

There Was No One To Call Me To Bed, No One To Demand That The Rhythms Of My Life Operate In A Duet.

To Me, This Is The Singular Privilege Of Reading Literature: We Are Allowed To Step Into Another's Life.

Alone In My Room, Wrapped In A Blanket, I Whimpered And Talked Aloud To Myself, Recalling The Lost Glory Of My Youth When I Considered Myself, And Was Considered By Others, A Bright And Capable Person. It Seemed That Was All Gone Now.

Loneliness: There Is No Organ That Can Take It All.