Love Is A Promise Delivered Already Broken.

She Is Nearing Forty And Not So Easily Forgiven As When Her Skin Bloomed Like Roses.

Despite A Lack Of Natural Ability, I Did Have The One Element Necessary To All Early Creativity: Naïveté, That Fabulous Quality That Keeps You From Knowing Just How Unsuited You Are For What You Are About To Do.

[her] Mind Blackens. The Blackness Is Not A Thought, But If It Could Be Pressed Into A Thought, If A Chemical From A Dropper Could Be Dripped Onto It Causing Its Color And Essence To Become Visible, It Would Take The Shape Of This Sentence: Why Does No One Want Me?

There Are Few Takers For The Quiet Heart.

It's Not What You Know, It's What You Think You Know.