I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.

I’ve always hated being looked at.

Mama, Mama, help me get home I'm out in the woods, I am out on my own. I found me a werewolf, a nasty old mutt It showed me its teeth and went straight for my gut. Mama, Mama, help me get home I'm out in the woods, I am out on my own. I was stopped by a vampire, a rotting old wreck It showed me its teeth and went straight for my neck. Mama, Mama, put me to bed I won't make it home, I'm already half-dead. I met an Invalid, and fell for his art He showed me his smile, and went straight for my heart. -From "A Child's Walk Home," Nursery Rhymes and Folk Tales

I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.

Most of the time one night blends into the next and weeks blend into weeks and months into other months. And sooner or later we all die. But at the beginning of the night anything’s possible.

This is what we are made for: promises, pledges, and sworn oaths of obedience.

The memories seem like snapshots from someone else’s life.