The time had come at last. "No more crying!" Susan pleaded, her eyes shining in the light of the stars. My eyes were just adjusting. "I wasn't crying," I said. "I am tired of all the fighting. I am ready for..."
For things to be different. First you had to find a beginning, and then a middle. The end would find you. Me, all I had was middles. "The woods were lovely dark and deep" but I had no promise. Robert and I played tennis, without a net, and personally I fucking loved it.
"ah it's just laziness, that's what it is" he griped. Somewhere I'm sure above us were stars. Would he rather they burn, or rhyme?
And then there was the moon:
"Yourself?" my therapist suggests. "Is that what you're looking for?"
"But I'm right here. How can I be looking for myself when I AM IN FACT MYSELF?"
But it was just rhetorical. No amount of words could console Susan; when she was a baby she swallowed a black hole and we all know how that goes. And me, here, standing with this shovel, not crying, just a little dirt in my eye.