It's difficult to grow up. Shoot, it's difficult to even figure out what that means. I suspect that the act of growing up is rooted in pain. Pain that is unfair, unique to you, callous, and solely your responsibility. From the white-hot shard of ice whose…

It was the smell of geraniums that called it to mind again after all these years. My kid had picked a handful for me. I got a whiff of them and the years peeled back.

I had to water the garden, and I loved the geraniums best. I sang to them, I read them…

These short nine years,

have gone by so fast,

Our lives intertwined by-

love and trust - so vast.

From boys to books,

our friendship never

dared to forsook

because it is forever.

As we grow old-

-er, our secrets - untold,

our lives separated,

by time an…