I used to be someone.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.

Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?

When you are perfect, is there anywhere else to go?

We all have a dark place in us. It's what we do with it and the choice we make.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

Awareness There is a dark place. A place where I have no eyes, no mouth. No words. I can't cry out because I have no breath. The silence is so deep I want to die. But I can't. The darkness and silence go on forever. It is not a dream. I don't dream.