Factory Farming, Of Course, Does Not Cause

That’s All Anyone Wants From Anyone Else, Not Love Itself But The Knowledge That Love Is There.

The Mistakes I've Made Are Dead To Me. But I Can't Take Back The Things I Never Did.

She Let Out A Laugh, And Then She Put Her Hand Over Her Mouth, Like She Was Angry At Herself For Forgetting Her Sadness.

Literature Was The Only Religion Her Father Practiced, When A Book Fell On The Floor He Kissed It, When He Was Done With A Book He Tried To Give It Away To Someone Who Would Love It.

We Shared The Smile Of Recognizing Ourselves In Each Other, How Many Imposters Do I Have? Do We All Make The Same Mistakes, Or Has One Of Us Gotten It Right, Or Even Just A Bit Less Wrong, Am I The Imposter?