Living With Him Is Like Being Told

Widow. The Word Consumes Itself.

I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head.

I May Never Be Happy, But Tonight I Am Content. Nothing More Than An Empty House, The Warm Hazy Weariness From A Day Spent Setting Strawberry Runners In The Sun, A Glass Of Cool Sweet Milk, And A Shallow Dish Of Blueberries Bathed In Cream. When One Is So Tired At The End Of A Day One Must Sleep, And At The Next Dawn There Are More Strawberry Runners To Set, And So One Goes On Living, Near The Earth. At Times Like This I'd Call Myself A Fool To Ask For More.

The Tulips Are Too Red...they Hurt Me.

I Want To Become Acutely Aware Of All I've Taken For Granted.