Aids Was Something That Was Put Upon

Life Was Neither Something You Defended By Hiding Nor Surrendered Calmly On Other People's Terms, But Something You Lived Bravely, Out In The Open, And That If You Had To Lose It, You Should Lose It On Your Own Terms.

It's Interesting To See People Overcome Things. Because If You Didn't Overcome, You Wouldn't Be Writing It.

When You Write, It’s Like Braiding Your Hair. Taking A Handful Of Coarse Unruly Strands And Attempting To Bring Them Unity. Your Fingers Have Still Not Perfected The Task. Some Of The Braids Are Long, Others Are Short. Some Are Thick, Others Are Thin. Some Are Heavy. Others Are Light. Like The Diverse Women Of Your Family. Those Whose Fables And Metaphors, Whose Similes And Soliloquies, Whose Diction And Je Ne Sais Quoi Daily Slip Into Your Survival Soup, By Way Of Their Fingers.

Here, Though, There Is Nothing. Nothing At All. The Sky Seems Empty Even When I Am Looking At The Moon And Stars.

Pretend That This Is A Time Of Miracles And We Believe In Them.