Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history.

The melody faded like a rainbow after a storm, or like winds calming down at last; and what was left was calm, and possibility, and relief.

Because no retreat from the world can mask what is in your face.

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.

Growth and change were viewed as reactions to conditions met

Forget us, forget us all, it makes no difference now, but don't forget we loved it when we were alive.

No one is exempt from grief.