Everything Is Randomly Connected.

I Told Myself It Was The Snow—she Couldn’t Possibly Get To Philadelphia On The Roads. I Told Myself A Hundred Lies. Children Do That. It’s Amazing The Sorts Of Things You’ll Make Yourself Believe.

She Was Too Much—for Zenith, Ohio. She’d Tried At Times To Make Herself Smaller, To Fit Neatly Into The Ordered Lines Of Expectation. But Somehow, She Always Managed To Say Or Do Something Outrageous—she’d Accept A Dare To Climb A Flagpole, Or Make A Slightly Risqué Joke, Or Go Riding In Cars With Boys—and Suddenly She Was “that Awful O’neill Girl” All Over Again.

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him.

Because You Don't Notice The Light Without A Bit Of Shadow. Everything Has Both Dark And Light. You Have To Play With It Till You Get It Exactly Right.

Felicity And I Watch The Dancers Moving As One. They Spin About Like The Earth On It's Axis, Enduring The Dark, Waiting For The Sun.