People Always Think That Happiness

It Was The Last Time She’d See The River From That Window. The Last Time Of Anything Has The Poignancy Of Death Itself. This That I See Now, She Thought, To See No More This Way. Oh, The Last Time How Clearly You See Everything; As Though A Magnifying Light Had Been Turned On It. And You Grieve Because You Hadn’t Held It Tighter When You Had It Every Day.

And Always, There Was The Magic Of Learning Things.

Because The Child Must Have A Valuable Thing Which Is Called Imagination. The Child Must Have A Secret World In Which Live Things That Never Were. It Is Necessary That She Believe. She Must Start Out Believing In Things Not Of This World. Then When The World Becomes Too Ugly For Living In, The Child Can Reach Back And Live In Her Imagination.

People Looking Up At Her--at Her Smooth Pretty Vivacious Face--had No Way Of Knowing About The Painfully Articulated Resolves Formulating In Her Mind.

But She Needs Me More Than She Needs Him And I Guess Being Needed Is Almost As Good As Being Loved. Maybe Better.