But remember that forgiveness too is a power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest. Maybe none of this is about control. Maybe it isn't really about who can own whom, who can do what to whom and get away with it, even as far as death. Maybe it isn't about who can sit and who has to kneel or stand or lie down, legs spread open. Maybe it's about who can do what to whom and be forgiven for it. Never tell me it amounts to the same thing.

In my dreams of this city I am always lost.

How easy it is, treachery. You just slide into it.

It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.

A Paradox, the doughnut hole. Empty space, once, but now they've learned to market even that. A minus quantity; nothing, rendered edible. I wondered if they might be used-metaphorically, of course-to demonstrate the existence of God. Does naming a sphere of nothingness transmute it into being?

Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.

More and more I feel like a letter—deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one.