With All Due Respect, If You’re Forty-three,

I Want My Own Books To Have Their Own Shelves," You Said, And That's How I Knew It Would Be Okay To Live Together.

...and Suddenly You Started Singing Out Your Love For Me. My Name And Everything, Loud Enough To Reach The Top Floors Of All The Buildings. I Should Have Told You To Stop, But I Didn’t Want You To Stop. I Didn’t Mind If Your Love For Me Woke People Up. I Didn’t Mind If It Somehow Sneaked Into Their Sleep.

There's No Way For Them To Take Away My Sadness, But They Can Make Sure I Am Not Empty Of All The Other Feelings.

She Stays In The Same Spot, Anchored By The Profound, Desperate Loneliness Of A Bad Relationship.

I Think That If You Were Somehow Able To Measure The Weight Of Human Kindness, It Would Have Weighed More On 9/11 Than It Ever Had. On 9/11, All The Hatred And Murder Could Not Compare With The Weight Of Love, Of Bravery, Of Caring. I Have To Believe That.