The question I've asked more often during our marriage, if not out loud, if not to the person who could answer. I supposed these questions storm cloud over every marriage: What are you thinking how are you feeling? Who are you? What have we done to each other? What will we do?

To me, marriage is the ultimate mystery.

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way.

Love makes you want to be a better man. But maybe love, real love, also gives you permission to just be the man you are.

My imagination is more tweaked by imagining the lives of the people who were there before us. I don't need to give myself the willies. I'm quite good at that - I can freak myself out wherever I am.