I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to my grief. It felt better, somehow, to be helpless. I didn't feel ashamed.

I cannot imagine how I will cope when I discover that my life is behind me, has already happened, and I have nothing to show for it. No treasure house of collection, no wealth of experience, no accumulated wisdom to pass on. What are we, if not an accumulation of our memories?

I am an adult, but a damaged one.

What are we, if not an accumulation of our memories?

With him everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.

Work. Write. Read. Keep putting words on the page, because that's the only way you'll get better.

And then, when there is nothing else between us but love, we can begin to find a way to truly be together.