Sue the seventy year old sage will come to me eventually to disburden herself. Our hope comes from talking.
She was mindful of aging, ecosystems, and Native American children raised by white lesbian couples.
The day was rangy and deliberate from condors and mental disorders.
It pains Sue and myself when we have nothing to say and when we say things that are painfully obvious.
Her skin changes color like a mood ring, sometimes it is black.
Does every middle aged man have to write about adultery and death?
What else is there she said.