You Know," I Told Him,"if You Don't

There Has To Be A Middle. Without It, Nothing Can Ever Truly Be Whole. Because It Is Not Just The Space Between, But Also What Holds Everything Together.

The Only Thing I Can't Stand More Than Seeing Something Done Wrong Is Seeing It Done Slowly.

It All Depends On How You Choose To Live It. It's Like Forever, Always Changing.

Once, She'd Been A Pro At Decompressing, Loved To Sit On The Back Deck Of The Beach House In One Of Our Splintery Adirondack Chairs For Hours At A Time, Staring At The Ocean. She Never Had A Book Or The Paper Or Anything Else To Distract Her. Just The Horizon, But It Kept Her Attention, Her Gaze Unwavering. Maybe It Was The Absence Of Thought That She Loved About Being Out There, The World Narrowing To Just The Pounding Of The Waves As The Water Moved In And Out.

So What Do You Wear To Dump Somebody?" She Asked Me, Twirling A Lock Of Hair Around One Finger. "black, For Mourning? Or Something Cheerful And Colorful, To Distract Them From Their Pain? Or Maybe You Wear Some Sort Of Camouflage, Something That Will Help You Disappear Quickly In Case They Don't Take It Well.