Memphis—it’s Just A Bird. Birds Fly Around,

Gemma, You See How It Is. They've Planned Our Entire Lives, From What We Shall Wear To Whom We Shall Marry And Where We Shall Live. It's One Lump Of Sugar In Your Tea Whether You Like It Or Not And You'd Best Smile Even If You're Dying Deep Inside. We're Like Pretty Horses, And Just As On Horses, They Mean To Put Blinders On Us So We Can't Look Left Or Right But Only Straight Ahead Where They Would Lead. Please, Please, Please, Gemma, Let's Not Die Inside Before We Have To.

Because You Can't Keep Up The Illusion Forever," I Say. "no One Has That Much Magic.

Around Us The Night Creatures Have Their Say. We Are Surrounded By A Symphony Of Crickets And Frogs. Neither Of Us Feels The Need To Speak, And I Suppose That Is One Of The Qualities I Find Comforting In Kartik. We Can Be Alone Together.

It's Always Darkest Before The Ultimate Sparkle.

A Gentle Breeze Catches In The Branches Then And I Hear It, Soft And Low, A Murmured Prayer--gem-ma, Gem-ma--and Then The Leaves Bend Down And Trail Delicate Fingers Across My Cold Cheeks.