Sara Gruen

...strangely alone in the most public of places.

He's paragon schnitzophonic.'
'He's what?!'
'Paragon schnitzophonic,' repeats Uncle Al.
'You mean paranoid schizophrenic?

Estoy tan lleno de amor que se me desborda, que estallo.

When you’re five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties you know how old you are. I’m twenty-three, you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties something strange starts to happen. It’s a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I’m—you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you’re not. You’re thirty-five. And then you’re bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it’s decades before you admit