I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by abscence?

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.

Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element.

I feel that I an everything to her.

I don't want to boss anyone and I don't want to be bossed.

Henry loves my hair almost as though it is a creature unto itself, as though it has a soul to call its own, as though it could love him back.

Sleep is my lover now, my forgetting, my opiate, my oblivion.