Who The Heck Is Don Quick-oats?

It's Only His Thumb Brushing Slowly Across The Lower Edge Of My Lip, But It's As If Time Slows And The Sweep Of That Thumb Below My Mouth Takes Forever. It Is No Spell That I Know Of, But It Holds Such Magic, I Can Scarcely Breath. He Pulls His Hand Away Fast, Aware Of What He's Done. But His Touch Lingers.

I Had Thought Felicity Dangerous A Moment Ago, When She Felt Powerful. I Was Wrong. Wounded And Powerless, She Is More Dangerous Than I Could Imagine.

In A World Beyond This One, That River Goes On Singing Sweetly, Enchanting Us With What We Want To Hear, Shaping What We Need To See In Order To Keep Going. In Those Waters, All Disappointments Are Forgotten, Our Mistakes Forgiven. Gazing Into Them, We See A Strong Father. A Loving Mother. Warm Rooms Where We Are Sheltered, Adored, Wanted. And The Uncertainty Of Our Futures Is Nothing More Than The Fog Of Breath On A Windowpane.

We Have Traveled Through Space And Time. We Have Been Many Places. Visited Many Worlds. And There Is Good News: The Acoustics Everywhere Are Terrific.

In School, They Would Tell You That Life Wouldn’t Come To You; You Had To Go Out And Make It Your Own. But When It Came To Love, The Message For Girls Seemed To Be This: Don’t. Don’t Go After What You Want. Wait. Wait To Be Chosen, As If Only In The Eye Of Another Could One Truly Find Value. The Message Was Confusing And Infuriating. It Was A Shell Game With No Actual Pea Under The Rapidly Moving Cups.