The daffodils and mums, and the eucalyptus buds and the chamomile on necks as thin as capellini – all looked like stars, and therefor, shining.

Some of the things you left me without – I’m trying to find them for myself, in just myself.  And I’m asking, when the mirror inside turns me into something unworthy: is it more reassuring to protest? Or to acknowledge that what I see feels true?

But I think the best thing is to admit I don’t know.  Knowing doesn’t help very much.  You never find out anything that way.