You Can't Teach An Ear,

In Our Absence, The Violet Early Evening Light Pours In The Bay Window, Filling The Still Room Like Water Poured Into A Glass. The Glass Is Delicate. The Thin, Tight Surface Of The Liquid Light Trembles. But It Does Not Break. Time Does Not Pass. Not Yet.

There Is Never A Sudden Revelation, A Complete And Tidy Explanation For Why It Happened, Or Why It Ends, Or Why Or Who You Are. You Want One And I Want One, But There Isn't One. It Comes In Bits And Pieces, And You Stitch Them Together Wherever They Fit, And When You Are Done You Hold Yourself Up, And Still There Are Holes And You Are A Rag Doll, Invented, Imperfect. And Yet You Are All That You Have, So You Must Be Enough. There Is No Other Way.

Madness Strips You Of Memory And Leaves You Scrabbling Around On The Floor Of Your Brain For The Snatches And Snippets Of What Happened, What Was Said, And When.

Anorexia And Bulimia Seem To Be Getting Much More Common In Boys, Men, And Women Of All Ages And Socioeconomic Backgrounds; They Are Also Becoming More Common In Racial Groups Previously Thought To Be Impervious To The Problem.

The Joy Is An Absurd Yellow Tulip, Popping Up In My Life, Contradicting All The Evidence That Shows It Should Not Be There.