Write The Book You Want To Read,

A Childhood Is What Anyone Wants To Remember Of It. It Leaves Behind No Fossils, Except Perhaps In Fiction.

The Scolding Voice Is Her Own, So Abrasive And Quick, Yet So Powerless To Move Her.

Eventually, Everything Gets Stuck Between A Pair Of Parentheses Or Buried In The Bottom Of A Trunk.

Go For Long Walks, Indulge In Hot Baths, Question Your Assumptions, Be Kind To Yourself, Live For The Moment, Loosen Up, Scream, Curse The World, Count Your Blessings, Just Let Go, Just Be.

Nothing She Did Or Said Was Quite What She Meant But Still Her Life Could Be Called A Monument Shaped In A Slant Of Available Light And Set To The Movement Of Possible Music