You're so far off base this time you can't even see the base!
What?" She drew herself up, stern as a cat presented with the wrong food for dinner.
Fear and bigotry don’t need explaining. They simply are, like traffic jams and taxes.
Uh - do you want to do it outside? "Frequently. Oh, you meant the wedding. That, too.
We don't go to the ocean for anything as simple as happiness, do we? We go there to feel alive. Like life, the ocean holds chance and change, grief and terror and beauty. It promises mortality, not peace.
How to put this feeling, this certainty, into something as limited as words?