We knew each other and played outside together. He was nice but he always pulled my hair in school and copied off of my work.

He has been someone to help me with everything. In the kitchen, with the children — he has helped me always.

They were all in high school or junior high.

We bought all used equipment. One skillet. A refrigerator. A stove. A couple of rolling pins. It was very small.

The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn't find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller.
The storyteller didn't exist anymore.

I lived what most people call the good life. I was happy, but deep inside I always felt that, with the short amount of time we are given to live and love in this world, we spend too much time loving things instead of people.