She Had Always Wanted Words, She Loved

To Write About Someone Like Myself Would Be Very Limiting.

I Am Someone Who Has A Cold Heart. If I Am Beside A Great Grief I Throw Barriers Up So The Loss Cannot Go Too Deep Or Too Far. There Is A Wall Instantly In Place, And It Will Not Fall.

I Want To Die On Your Chest But Not Yet She Wrote Sometime In The 13th Century Of Our Love

Moments Before Sleep Are When She Feels Most Alive, Leaping Across Fragments Of The Day, Bringing Each Moment Into The Bed With Her Like A Child With Schoolbooks And Pencils. The Day Seems To Have No Order Until These Times, Which Are Like A Ledger For Her, Her Body Full Of Stories And Situations.

I See The Poem Or The Novel Ending With An Open Door.