She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress
She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.
She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?
A womans mistakes are different from a girls
Oleander time, she said. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.