...poking A Lump Of Red Jello That

The Only Thing That Makes Me Crazier Than Writing Is Not Writing.

After Sixty-one Years Together, She Simply Clutched My Hand And Exhaled.

When I First Submerged My Feet Into Frigid Water, They Hurt So Badly I Yanked Them Out Again. I Persisted, Dunking Them For Longer And Longer Periods, Until The Cold Finally Blistered.

Although There Are Times I'd Give Anything To Have Her Back, I'm Glad She Went First. Losing Her Was Like Being Cleft Down The Middle. It Was The Moment It All Ended For Me, And I Wouldn't Have Wanted Her To Go Through That.

When Did I Stop Being Me?