A Fish Has No Concept

What Was Beauty Unless You Intended To Use It, Like A Hammer, Or A Key? It Was Just Something For Other People To Use And Admire, Or Envy, Despise. To Nail Their Dreams Onto Like A Picture Hanger On A Blank Wall. And So Many Girls Saying, Use Me, Dream Me.

Who Was I, Really? I Was The Sole Occupant Of My Mother's Totalitarian State, My Own Personal History Rewritten To Fit The Story She Was Telling That Day. There Were So Many Missing Pieces. I Was Starting To Find Some Of Them, Working My Way Upriver, Collecting A Secret Cache Of Broken Memories In A Shoebox.

Her Hatred Glittered Irresistibly. I Could See It, The Jewel, It Was Sapphire, It Was The Cold Lakes Of Norway.

I Wondered Where He Was Now Whether I Would Ever Hear Him Again. Whether Someone Would Love Him, Someday Show Him What Beauty Mean't.

Although She Was Giddy With Exhaustion, Sleep Was A Lover Who Refused To Be Touched.