In My 20s, I Railed

If I Had But An Hour Of Love,if That Be All That Is Given Me,an Hour Of Love Upon This Earth,i Would Give My Love To Thee.

I Knew Something As I Watched: Almost Everyone Was Saying Goodbye To Me. I Was Becoming One Of The Many Little-girl-losts. They Would Go Back To Their Homes And Put Me To Rest, A Letter From The Past Never To Be Reopened Or Reread. And I Could Say Goodbye To Them, Wish Them Well, Bless Them Somehow For Their Good Thoughts. A Handshake In The Street, A Dropped Item Picked Up And Retrieved And Handed Back, Or A Friendly Wave From The Distant Window, A Nod, A Smile, A Moment When The Eyes Lock Over The Antics Of A Child.

Depending On Where I Am In The Process, Sometimes I Have A Page Count And Sometimes I Don't. Sometimes I Have An Hour Count; Sometimes I'm Just Happy To String A Few Words Together. I Do Keep Pretty Rigorous Hours, Because Otherwise You Never Get Anything Done.

Murder Had A Blood Red Door On The Other Side Of Which Was Everything Unimaginable To Everyone.

She Liked To Imagine That When She Passed The World Looked After Her, But She Also Knew How Anonymous She Was.