In waking hours

When will I learn to give up?

Melody: I adored you, and couldn't tell you. If I could have told you, you wouldn't have believed me. You were so fraught with fascinations, both good and bad.

Sarah: I wish you could break out of your ghosts' webs. You are classically pretty in a way I wish I could see more often. I would pick you out of a crowd.

Betsy: I wish we could have grown together instead of apart. We were better friends after we weren't lovers.

Stacy: you were too young, and I was too old.

Janice: we were too alike, and while that's been good for both of us, I can't see that it would have been good for... both of us together. I still wish I had copies of those pictures from the day you graduated from the University of Rochester. You were so beautiful.

Caroline: I wish I knew where you were now, and hope you are happier than when I met you. I hoped you got help to be all you should have been. You were pretty and smart and witty, but so fragile.

Martha: touch my hand again.

Lynn: my heart is yours to break again. Please, just do it with your eyes open.

Carrie: gentle and sweet, so long ago.

When will this end?

I want to die.

I had horrible dreams about dying last night, and all of them -- at least four -- involved showing me the images of wonderful women I had lost over the years, either through my or their shortsighted vision.

I cried horribly, louder and plainer than I would ever do in waking hours.

I am here.