Someone’s set my soul loose; I can’t get her back. She’s out there, dancing wildly, wonderfully released. Prior craziness now seems justified—those midnight escapades to the underworld, hoping (like Persephone) to be rid of earthly chores; the foolhardy fearlessness that bared its teeth at friend and foe alike: all symptoms of an overheated heart, surging upward like a volcano, spitting out sparks and toxic fumes from a core of molten energy, the creative source within. It’s like a cat that...

My former lovers send me many things: old photos, art, mementoes of our lives; if we had wed, they’d give me diamond rings, but nothing of true value still survives. My former lovers praise me to the skies; say that we should’ve married, but instead, we faced the truth, which was to realize that our relationships were, frankly, dead. The Monday morning quarterbacking hurts— why grind this axe, why plow this tired row? Why keep on sending stuff in fits and spurts? Just get it over with: learn...