It's the words that sing, they soar and descend. I bow to them. I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them. I love words so much. The ones I wait for greedily... they glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread, metal, dew... I stalk certain words. They are so beautiful that I want to fit them all into my ( Read more... )

He was an odd-looking man. His face hung large and white, creamy. He wore brown clothes and he moved slowly, with his head turned down. But he liked my mother, you could tell. Some people did. You could see it. Strangers almost always love my mother. And even if you hate her, can't stand her, even if she's ruining your life, there's something about ( Read more... )