It won't happen yet, Ellen mused, mashing cooked carrots for Jill's lunch. Breakups seldom do. It will unfold slowly, one little tell-tale symptom after another like some awful, hellish flower.

I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

Every day is precious and I feel infinitely sad at this time melting away from me.

I hurl my heart to halt his pace.

I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.