The Wishes Might Not Come True The

Sometimes I Wanted To Peel Away All Of My Skin And Find A Different Me Underneath.

Maybe He Was Real. Maybe I'd Made Him Up. Either Way, He Didn't Think I Needed Him Anymore. Maybe He Was Right.

The Circus Tent Was Flowing Pale In The Rain Like A Fleshy Flower Lit From Within. It Seemed To Bloom In The Downpour. Drops Of Rain Caught On Rafe's Eyelashes, Blinding Him As The Circus Light Struck Them. He Groped For The Flap, That Slit In The Fabric That Would Reveal Her To Him. She Was On The Rope Again, Her Skirt Flashing With Tiny Mirrors, Hair Braided With Petals. He Looked Up At Her, Dizzy With It, Seeing Her Face Framed In The Parasol. There Were Bluish Shadows Around Her Eyes.

War Is Being Reminded That You Are Completely At The Mercy Of Death At Every Moment, Without The Illusion That You Are Not. Without The Distractions That Make Life Worth Living.

L.a. Kills People.' Jacaranda Said. 'you're Lucky You're Leaving. You'll Be Able To Write.' She Looked Paler, Going Through Another Depression, Smoking In Bed In Her Lilac Room. The Walls Were The Color Of Her Veins. She Was Getting Too Thin, Even For The Modeling. . .jacaranda Died Last Winter When The Flowering Trees Were Bare. You Couldn't Even Tell Which Ones Once Cried The Purple Blossoms She Named Herself After.