She Stays In The Same Spot, Anchored

It Scares Me How Hard It Is To Remember Life Before You. I Can't Even Make The Comparisons Anymore, Because My Memories Of That Time Have All The Depth Of A Photograph. It Seems Foolish To Play Games Of Better And Worse. It's Simply A Matter Of Is And Is No Longer.

It's Gonna Hurt Because It Matters.

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

These Words Are Now Mine, But Soon They’ll Be Ours.

I Have Taken Advantage Of Other People's Weaknesses In Order To Cover My Own.