Let me tell you this once (I will not be able to say it again): I have lost the meaning of words. Heavy, they ripped away from the sounds, fell into cracked ground. For weeks I scratched but what I dug up was bicycle spokes, black melon rinds, a smashed doll face--it was not meaning. I don't know what I am saying. I exaggerate. Not everything is gone. I still know perfectly what sugar means, and pine needle. Laughter is more of a problem. And yellow often slides, a plate of butter in the sun. The meaning of flower has gone entirely; so has the meaning of love. Now it is safe to say: I love you. Now it is true.