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I'm aware of the fact that no one reads this any longer. I unwillingly let this corner of cyberspace melt into nothingness like various other things that were of so much importance once upon a time. I was proud of the words I wrote. Once, I pulled a boy's dark arm toward myself, fumbled for a pen and on him scribbled the address of this little place. nur-ee.blogspot.com

I used to be so enthusiastic. Repeating and remembering words to myself. Sentences I ached to put together into some form of presentable prose.

For the three years I was in love I was a writer.