Thursday, December 13, 2007


You tried to eat your father today. First you started on his fingers, then you moved to his hand. Then you tried to devour his arm. You gummed all the way up to his elbow and left a slimey trail. It was adorable.

A little hand feels around until it catches my nose. Then it squeezes. Are you still there, it asks? Good.

Joy is a hug that chokes you with exuberance.

Joy is sugar cookie kisses with chocolate Hitler mustaches.

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