You don't want to write your own opinion, you don't want to just represent yourself, but represent yourself through someone else.

A writer uses a pen instead of a scalpel or blow torch.

Death means you are in the third person.

She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.

she had a laugh that hinted it had rolled around once or twice in the mud.

She had lived in that house fourteen years, and every year she had demanded of John that she be given a pet of some strange exotic breed. Not that she did not have enough animals. She had collected several wild and broken animals that, in a way, had become exotic by their breaking. Their roof would have collapsed from the number of birds who might have lived there if the desert hadn't killed three- quarters of those that tried to cross it. Still every animal that came within a certain radius of that house was given a welcome-the tame, the half born, the wild, the wounded.

I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently…but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.