I Mean, It's Impossible To

Harder To Get In Than Out, Like So Little Else.

It Was Always Late At Night, When Everything And Everyone Else Was Quiet, That Those Voices Would Rise Like Ghosts, Soft And Haunting, Filling Your Mind Until Sleep Finally Came.

Oh Darling, Don't Be Bitter. It's The First Instinct Of The Weak.

I Eased Back On My Elbows, Tilting My Head Back To Look Up At The Sky, Which Was Pinkish, Streaked With Red. This Was The Time We Knew Best, That Stretch Of Day Going From Dusk To Dark. It Seemed Like We Were Always Waiting For Nighttime Here. I Could Feel The Trampoline Easing Up And Down, Moved By Our Own Breathing, Bringing Us In Small Increments Up And Back From The Sky As The Colors Faded, Slowly, And The Stars Began To Show Themselves.

I Write Thank-you Notes The Minute I Throw The Wrapping Paper Away.