If There Wasn't A Word

In School, The Year Was The Marker. Fifth Grade. Senior Year Of High School. Sophomore Year Of College. Then After, The Jobs Were The Marker. That Office. This Desk. But Now That School Is Over And I've Been Working At The Same Place In The Same Office At The Same Desk For Longer Than I Can Truly Believe, I Realize: You Have Become The Marker. This Is Your Era. And It's Only If It Goes On And On That Will Have To Look For Other Ways To Identify The Time.

Fraught, Adj. Does Every “i Love You” Deserve An “i Love You Too”? Does Every Kiss Deserve A Kiss Back? Does Every Night Deserve To Be Spent On A Lover? If The Answer To Any Of These Is “no,” What Do We Do?

It’s As Simple As That. Simple And Complicated, As Most True Things Are.

You Don't Know, But I'm Noticing.

Bad Girl!" She Chided. "i'm Pretty Sure Boris Is A Boy," I Said. "oh, I Know," Mrs. Basil E. Assured Me. "i Just Like To Keep Him Confused," Then She And Boris Headed Off With My Future.