“I loved youlike a man loves a woman he never touches, onlywrites to, keeps little photographs of. I would haveloved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling acigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,but that didn’t happen. your letters got sadder.your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, alllovers betray.”

“I see you drinking at a fountain with tinyblue hands, no, your hands are not tinythey are small, and the fountain is in Francewhere you wrote me that last letter andI answered and never heard from you again.you used to write insane poems aboutANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and youknew famous artists and most of themwere your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealousbecause we’ never met. we got close once inNew Orleans, one half block, but never met, nevertouched. so you went with the famous and wroteabout the famous, and, of course, what you found outis that the famous are worried abouttheir fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bedwith them, who gives them that, and then awakensin the morning to write upper case poems aboutANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ toldus, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybeit was the upper case. you were one of thebest female poets and I told the publishers, editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved youlike a man loves a woman he never touches, onlywrites to, keeps little photographs of. I would haveloved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling acigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, alllovers betray. it didn’ help. you saidyou had a crying bench and it was by a bridge andthe bridge was over a river and you sat on the cryingbench every night and wept for the lovers who hadhurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but neverheard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met youI would probably have been unfair to you or youto me. it was best like this.”

“your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.”

“I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.”

“Ash,” Mab crooned as he drew near. “My poor boy. Rowan told me what happened between the two of you, but I know you had your reasons. Why would you betray me?” “I love her.”

“Why didn’t you come back?” he sobbed.“I waited and waited for you, like I said I would, but you never came back! Why? Why didn’t you come back? I love you I love you I love you.”