You Can Count The Dead,

There Is Always Room For At Least Two Truths.

The Thing About Love Is That We Come Alive In Bodies Not Our Own.

He's At Ease, His Body Sculpted To The Music, His Shoulder Searching The Other Shoulder, His Right Toe Knowing The Left Knee, The Height, The Depth, The Form, The Control, The Twist Of His Wrist, The Bend Of His Elbow, The Tilt Of His Neck, Notes Digging Into Arteries, And He Is In The Air Now, Forcing The Legs Up Beyond Muscular Memory, One Last Press Of The Thighs, An Elongation Of Form, A Loosening Of Human Contour, He Goes Higher And Is Skyheld.

Part Of Me Really Wants To Believe That Hope Is Entirely Available To All Of Us. We Don't Have To Embrace It. It Would Be Sentimental And Silly To Say That We All Need It, But It Is Absolutely Available To All Of Us.

One Look At Each Other And It Was Immediately Understood That They Both Needed A Clean Slate,,, The Obliteration Of Memory.