The Woman Who Loves... Some things you expect less than others. I did not expect this to be her answers to my questions. A week goes by. Her half of the sofa still sits untouched, like a shrine. There is her throw pillow with the silk case that I never liked because my head would slip around on it too much, propped up against the back. There is the flannel blanket with the cartoon monkeys that she kept folded up there for when her feet got cold, which was most evenings, was still draped over the back corner. There is the blue notebook that she left me, resting on the right armrest that she would use as a desk to write on at night. The right had beThe Woman Who Loves...
JayThe Boy Who Loves... The woman curled up around me, her knees framing one side of my hips, her stomach the other, with me sitting in the space between each like a picture, begins to ask a question. Her head hangs upside down off the edge of the sofa, her long, black curls fanning out onto the carpet. "Why is it so hard to cry when you're upside down?"The Boy Who Loves...
The question sounds like a set up so I respond invitingly. "I don't know. Why?" "I suspect it's because if you're crying everything else in your life is very upside down and you should be, at least physically, right side up. I
Grr!
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-The knack of flying is to throw yourself at the ground and miss.
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Green is cool
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"Lord beer me strength."
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