I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.

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

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.

On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.

My timing is off. But I had to get it out. Some things you have to tell, no matter how stupid they may sound. Some things you can't save for later. There might not be a later.

Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)

When is a cell finally too small to hold our essence?