Every Year, The Memories I Have Of

One Is Always Changing. I Don't Want To Write The Same Book And I Couldn't, Because I'm A Different Person.

You're Looking For Ways Always As The Writer To Bring Readers Into Intimacy, You With Them With You. Photos Can Sometimes Do The Opposite, Create Distance And Perspective, But These Somehow Didn't. They Somehow Bring The Reader Closer.

She Struggled With Her Sadness, But Tried To Conceal It, To Divide It Into Smaller And Smaller Parts And Scatter These In Places She Thought No One Would Find Them.

("let's Stand Under A Tree," She Said. "why?" "because It's Nicer." "maybe You Should Sit On A Chair, And I'll Stand Above You, Like They Always Do With Husbands And Wives." "that's Stupid." "why's It Stupid?" "because We're Not Married." "should We Hold Hands?" "we Can't." "but Why?" "because, People Will Know." "know What?" "about Us." "so What If They Know?" "it's Better When It's A Secret." "why?" "so No One Can Take It From Us.")

The Unique Thing That Literature Provides Is To Be Able To Step So Fully Into Another Situation And Condition.