Maybe Any Love We Ever Have Is

If Death Is Your Father, You Don't Ever Have To Worry About What Part Of His Body The Disease Will Strike Next. If Death Is Your Lover, You Don't Have To Be Afraid That He Will Ever Leave You.

There’s Nowhere To Escape,” Dobey Said, Jamming His Hands Into His Pockets And Staring Into The Valley. That’s Not True, Baby,” Said Desiree. She Took His Hands And Pulled Him To Her, Wrapping Her Legs Around His Torso. She Could Feel The Sobs In Both Of Them, But Quiet, Silenced By The Kiss. They Could Escape Inside Each Other.

All The Things That Girls Feel They Are Not When They Fear That If They Become, If They Are, They Will No Longer Be Loved By The Sisters Whose Hearts They Have Not Meant To Break. And Besides, If The Sisters Are Gone And Only The Beloved Remains With His Dense Curls And His Lips, How Safe Are You Then? You Have To Have Him Or You Will Die If The Sisters Are Gone With Their Listening Ears And Their Feet To Rub And Their Bodies To Dress And Their Shared Loneliness.

War Is Being Reminded That You Are Completely At The Mercy Of Death At Every Moment, Without The Illusion That You Are Not. Without The Distractions That Make Life Worth Living.

She Pushed The Gardener Away And Called For Them. In Her Sleep She Had Seen Love. It Was Poisoning. It Was Possessing. Devouring. Or It Was Seven Pairs Of Boots Climbing Up The Stairs To Find Her.