. . . She Gave Him One

Then He Almost But Didn't Say The Two Sentence He'd Been Meaning To Say For Years: Part Of Me Is Made Of Glass, And Also, I Love You

For Me, The Most Powerful Way To Write About Something Is Through The Absence Of It. Rather Than Writing About What It Was To Become A New Mother, I Wrote, For Example, A Father Facing Death And Addressing His Estranged Son About The Regrets Of His Relationship.

We Move Through The Day Like Two Hands Of A Clock: Sometimes We Overlap For A Moment, Then Come Apart Again, Carrying On Alone. Everyday Exactly The Same: The Tea, The Burnt Toast, The Crumbs, The Silence.

An Average Of Seventy-four Species Become Extinct Every Day, Which Was One Good Reason But Not The Only One To Hold Someone's Hand.

Even Among The Angels, There Is The Sadness Of Division.