“How many hours can one person spend locked in a bathroom, looking at skin, hair, eyes. Feeling fingers, toes. And the absurdity of a belly button?”

“Eyes don't breath. I know that much. But her eyes look breathless”

“Boredom reigns on all levels. The rain is a welcome change. I have seen the pond swell and the creek surge. I press my palm against the glass, imagining the drops on my skin, imagining where they started out, where they will go, feeling them like a river, rushing, combining, becoming something greater than how they started out.”

“There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.”

“The thought weaves into her unexpectedly, as so many thoughts do, time again. How do you make the remembering stop?”

“No matter how much they want it, or how much I want it, I can't make it happen. The feeling of failure is familiar. I always tried so hard to be everything they wanted”

“Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)”