2 cold sunlight breaks into orange slits on the carpet. I always remember myself alone. I be like the other kids . Or, she is always a voice on the telephone, saying, no, you don t understand Time is an even steel blue, fades black at the edges a pond, a small white body, a child, or a fish maybe a prosthetic arm. A tattered white shirt.
Every story has a hole in it.
He feels like his own ghost. Your father is proud of you, he s just a worrier. I know, I know. I have that. So much of this gentleness, is my mother.