Women don't realize how much store men set on the regularity of their habits. We absorb their comings and goings into our bodies, their rhythms into our bones.

But if there was embellishment, it only had to do with the facts.

Sometimes a person's monstrosity seems superhuman.

Time was rushing around me like water around a big wet rock. The only difference is, I was not so durable as stones. Very quickly I would be smoothed away.

Right and wrong were shades of meaning, not sides of a coin.

Her clothes were filled with safety pins and hidden tears.

...which causes me to wonder, my own purpose on so many days as humble as the spider's, what is beautiful that I make? What is elegant? What feeds the world?