I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.

I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always.

He is coming, and I am here.

I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble

He was not in the house. He did not come back that night. Days went by, and at last she understood that he would not return at all.

I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way.

I'm bored with knitting. I've taken up arson.