My dearest Y. and B.— I've written and rewritten this letter many times. Didn't want to sound trite, didn't want to come off like a cliched greeting card either. How does one find the right words for joy, for knowing that you're
I can't sleep. I can't work. Not being part of someone's life—I think that will always be one of my biggest hurts. Do you know that warmth you get while in a relationship? The one where you felt so beautiful?
So much to be thankful for. To the world, for listening. For keeping friends safe. For not forgetting who needs justice. For letting people be loved. For mornings where two people can catch up on each other's lives. To white
From another letter: Tell me about a random night that you have. Very well: I was watching Toy Story 3, and Andy was leaving all his toys behind, and he was playing with them for the last time. I watched
I have thirty-three versions of Moon River. I don't think it will ever be enough. We're after the same rainbow's end— Why Are Your Poems So Dark? Linda Pastan Isn't the moon dark too, most of the time? And doesn't
Good morning :) Japan Billy Collins Today I pass the time reading a favorite haiku, saying the few words over and over. It feels like eating the same small, perfect grape again and again. I walk through the house reciting it and leave its letters falling through the air of