Are we bitter? We sit here amazed at ourselves. The dream that was lost was before our time, though we

sensed that something important must have happened, just before we came along, even if we missed

the dance, and were left only to clean up the cups and plates of the party we would only hear stories about.

And what we are amazed with is so mundane to think of: that we got by, that we survived, when we were fed

so little meaning to sustain us. We believed in a thousand things with half a heart, desiring something

we knew not how to put into words, for the words were taught us without our experiencing what they could mean.

We have not even the passion to curse anyone; we are not bitter: we never stewed long or hot enough.