Am I sleeping? Have I slept at all? This is insomnia.

You grow up to become living proof of your parents' limitations. Their less-than masterpiece.

The religious school she went to, growing up, Ms. Wright said how all the girls had to wear a scarf tied to cover their ears at all times. Based on the biblical idea that the Virgin Mary became pregnant when the Holy Spirit whispered in her ear. The idea that ears were vaginas. That, hearing just one wrong idea, you lost your innocence. One detail too many and you’d be ruined. Overdosed on information.

Somehow it seems wrong to photograph a blind person. It’s like stealing something valuable they don’t even know they own.

They're just words is all. Powerless. Vocabulary. Dialogue.

My inventory of people who can save me is down to just me.

We've taken the world apart but we have no idea what to do with the pieces.