Out Loud I Said I Had Two

Well, It's My Voice, So It's More Accessible That Way, And There Are Also All Sorts Of Things Like Plot And Timelines That Are Already Known Entities, So For Me, It's Very Different From Writing Fiction.

Because Horror On Earth Is Real And It Is Every Day. It Is Like A Flower Or Like The Sun; It Cannot Be Contained.

I Was The Girl He Had Chosen To Kiss. He Wanted, Somehow To Set Me Free. He Didn't Want To Burn My Photo Or Toss It Away, But He Didn't Want To Look At Me Anymore, Either.

Now I Am In The Place I Call This Wide Wide Heaven Because It Includes All My Simplest Desires But Also The Most Humble And Grand. The Word My Grandfather Uses Is Comfort. So There Are Cakes And Pillows And Colors Galore, But Underneath This More Obvious Patchwork Quilt Are Places Like A Quiet Room Where You Can Go And Hold Someone's Hand And Not Have To Say Anything. Give No Story. Make No Claim. Where You Can Live At The Edge Of Your Skin For As Long As You Wish.

His Love For My Mother Wasn't About Looking Back And Loving Something That Would Never Change. It Was About Loving My Mother For Everything -- For Her Brokenness And Her Fleeing, For Her Being There Right Then In That Moment Before The Sun Rose And The Hospital Staff Came In. It Was About Touching That Hair With The Side Of His Fingertip, And Knowing Yet Plumbing Fearlessly The Depths Of Her Ocean Eyes.