I Like To Know What I'm Celebrating

I Started Trying To Write When I Was In Second Or Third Grade.

When Writing Isn't Going Well-then The Bad Thing About Being A Writer Is That I Also Have The Freedom And Flexibility To Do Something Badly, And No One Else Can Fix It For Me.

I Wish, Peevishly, That He Didn't Know Anything About How Soldiers Sleep, How They Protect Their Fellow Soldiers. It Would Be Nicer If I Could Share The Cloaks Warmth With Him, If We Could Lie With Our Faces Together, Whispering Into The Night.

There's Hope Around The Corner.

The Sudden Silence Is Horrifying, And It Seems To Catch My Mother Off Guard. A Tiny Whimper Escapes Her, The Sound Amplified In The Stillness. Surely, My Father Hears Her Now; Surely He And I Can't Go On Pretending She Isn't Crying.