Walter was a man of science. He knew how to repair space modules and calculate the speeds of solar winds. But terrestrial conundrums were alien to him. Still, he believed that if he could learn the reasons for crying he might eventually find a moment of actual peace. But today was not that day. She scowled at him in the mirror with her senile hair and resisted all attempts by him to subdue it with comb or brush or other implement of torture. She said I hate you. She said you

I believed that you would tell me when we'd had enough. I don't know why I thought I'd never get to it on my own. I think there must have been a time when I was younger when I lost my voice. When I gave it up for whomever wanted to lead. Funny how that happens. It was because I wanted safety, maybe? I wanted to know that I could follow, and if I could follow, then how could I ever be left alone? How could anyone deny me? My ideas are your ideas. It was... important to me, to