I Looked Down Again At The Sign

That Was The Thing About Being Alone, In Theory Or In Principle. Whatever Happened - Good, Bad, Or Anywhere In Between - It Was Always, If Nothing Else, All Your Own.

The World Is Speaking To You Every Day, You Just Don't Know How To Listen.

The Lizard Stared Up At Us, And We Stared Back, Taking Each Other In. He Was Little And Defenseless, I Felt Sorry For Him Already. This Was A Screwed-up Place He'd Just Come Into. But He Didn't Have To Know That. Not Yet, Anyway. There In That Room, Where It Was Hot And Cramped, The World Probably Still Seemed Small Enough To Manage.

And That Was It; It Was So Easy For Her. My Own Memories Did Not Even Belong To Me. But I Knew She Was Wrong. I Had Seen That Comet. I Knew It As Well As I Knew My Own Face, My Own Hands. My Own Heart.

Clearly, Sharing Something Could Take You A Long Way, Or At Least To A Different Place Than You'd Planned. Like A Friendship Or A Family, Or Even Jsut Alone On A Curb On A Saturday, Trying To Get Your Bearings As Best You Can.