I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.

But his words fall away. He looks confused. He looks flustered and sorry. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take her arm and she turns around and you were wrong.

The greenest of pastures are right here on earth.

Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.

He pressed himself into me and kissed my neck, and it was as if everything strong and solid inside me, heart and bones and muscle and gut, softened and melted from the heat of him.

I struggled for a long time to get anything published.

Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.