How Frail The Human Heart Must Be

That Afternoon My Mother Had Brought Me The Roses. "save Them For My Funeral," I'd Said.

I Must Learn More About These People―try To Understand Them, Put Myself In Their Place. No, Instead I Am So Busy Keeping My Head Above Water That I Scarcely Know Who I Am, Much Less Who Anyone Else Is.

I Am Dead To Them, Even Though I Once Flowered.

The Trouble About Jumping Was That If You Didn't Pick The Right Number Of Stories, You Might Still Be Alive When You Hit Bottom.

The Man Creates A Pseudonym And Hides Behind It Like A Worm