In The Next Election, I'm Voting For

Why Is It So Much Easier To Talk To A Stranger? Why Do We Feel We Need To Disconnect In Order To Connect? If I Wrote "dear Sofia" Or "dear Boomer" Or "dear Lily's Great-aunt" At The Top Of This Postcard, Wouldn't That Change The Words That Followed? Of Course It Would. But The Question Is: When I Wrote "dear Lily," Was That Just A Version Of "dear Myself"? I Know It Was More Than That. But It Was Also Less Than That, Too

It Feels Like I Am Wasting Time. I Mean, That's Always The Case. My Life Doesn't Add Up To Anything.

Such A Strange Thing, To Hold A Six-year-old's Hand. Especially A Six-year-old You've Only Just Met. A Toddler Will Grab Hold Of Your Finger, And Someone Your Own Age Will Clasp On To Your Whole Hand, But With Six-year-olds It's Something In Between, This Acknowledgment That They Can't Be The One To Take Hold, So You Have To Do All The Holding, Folding Your Hand Around Theirs, Feeling So Much Bigger And Responsible.

The Unwarranted Devotion. Putting Up With The Fear Of Being With The Wrong Person Because You Can't Deal With The Fear Of Being Alone. The Hope Tinged With Doubt, And The Doubt Tinged With Hope. Every Time I See These Feelings In Someone Else's Face, It Weighs Me Down.

And Yes, Holden Would Keep Those Kids From Falling Off The Cliff, But Who Wouldn't? Does She Think I Would Just Fold My Arms Or Give Them A Pat On The Back Before They Sailed Headfirst To The Ground? We Are All Catchers, And It's Sad That She Doesn't See It. Instead She Sees The Phoniness, She Deplores The World Even After I Point Out That I Am In It.