It's Good To Be In Love.

Twin Threads Ran Through Her: Fear And Excitement.

...and The Distance Between Them, Millimeters Only, The Space Of A Breath, Opened Up And Deepened, Became A Cavern At Whose Edge He Stood.

She Had Died At Age Twelve, And By Now She Was Nothing But The Memory Of Love-- Nothing, Now, But Bones.

Its Impossible To Control The Reception Of Your Work - The Only Thing You Can Control Is The Experience Of Writing Itself, And The Work You Create.

...bleak Territory Of The Heart.