I've Always Written In First Person. It

And So We Stood There In The Kitchen, My Mother And I, Facing Off Over Everything That Had Built Up Since June, When I Was Willing To Hand Myself Over Free And Clear. Now I Needed Her To Return It All To Me, With The Faith That I Could Make My Own Way.

What Happened To Goodbye?

I Eased Back On My Elbows, Tilting My Head Back To Look Up At The Sky, Which Was Pinkish, Streaked With Red. This Was The Time We Knew Best, That Stretch Of Day Going From Dusk To Dark. It Seemed Like We Were Always Waiting For Nighttime Here. I Could Feel The Trampoline Easing Up And Down, Moved By Our Own Breathing, Bringing Us In Small Increments Up And Back From The Sky As The Colors Faded, Slowly, And The Stars Began To Show Themselves.

"which Is Completely Out-of-line Behavior. Then You Are Wholly Within Your Rights To Stomp On Their Foot." "no," Delia Said, Over Her Shoulder. "actually, You're Not. Just Excuse Yourself As Politely As Possible, And Get Out Of Arm's Reach." Kristy Looked At Me, Shaking Her Head. "stomp Them." She Said, Under Her Breath. "really."

When Someone Starts To Change, And It’s Obvious, It's Sort Of Natural To Wonder Why. Right?