Sifting daylight dissolves the memory, turns it into dust motes floating in light.
I thought the whole world was like Lorain.
There in the center of that silence was not eternity but the death of time and a loneliness so profound the word itself had no meaning.
I type in one place, but I write all over the house.
If you can't count, they can cheat you. If you can't read, they can beat you.
Girl, I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me...my lonely is mine.