Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

It's only the body that's gone. Only the body. There's a part that doesn't go in the ground, a part that stays inside you forever.

The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please

I've always admired your rather formidable will, your refusal to back away from difficulties, but sometimes strength isn't about perseverance. Sometimes it's about knowing when to quit.

Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?

Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small.

The rain comes down harder as I write. It sheets off the roof in torrents. I wish it would pound against me. Pound the life from my body. The flesh from my bones. The pain from my heart.