One Never Quite Stops Believing, Some Doubt

He Pleaded So Much That He Lost His Voice. His Bones Began To Fill With Words.

Let Me Stay Here," He Said. "there Was Soap.

He Was Weary Of The Uncertainty Of The Vicious Circle Of That Eternal War That Always Found Him In The Same Place, But Always Older, Wearier, Even More In The Position Of Not Knowing Why, Or How, Or Even When.

Her Laugh Was Sad And Taciturn, Seemingly Detached From Any Feeling Of The Moment, Like Something She Kept In The Cupboard And Took Out Only When She Had To, Using It With No Feeling Of Ownership, As If The Infrequency Of Her Smiles Had Made Her Forget The Normal Way To Use Them.

If Men Gave Birth, They'd Be Less Inconsiderate.