History could hover, like a faint perfume or a memory stamped on the back of one's eyelids.
That's what happens to dreams, life gets in the way.
In the custom of mourning, the fabric of the night had been ripped, revealing a star at each tiny tear.
something is always falling apart in me.
People changed. Even the people you thought you knew as well as you knew yourself.
If God wanted us to act on instinct, we wouldn't have the power of reason.