My Grief Was Cold. It Was Nothing

At Midnight The Wind In The Tress Can Sound Like The Ocean. The Moonlight Can Make A Road Appear As Endless As The Sea.

I Don't Really Read As Much As I Used To. A Lot Of What I Was Looking For As An Escape I Find In Writing. And The Other Thing Is That I Don't Want To Get Into Someone Else's Language When I'm Working

Unrequited Love Is So Boring. Weeping Under A Blue-black Sky Is For Suckers Or Maniacs.

Are People Drawn To Each Other Because Of The Stories They Carry Inside? At The Library I Couldn’t Help But Notice Which Patrons Checked Out The Same Books. They Appeared To Have Nothing In Common, But Who Could Tell What A Person Was Truly Made Of? The Unknown, The Riddle, The Deepest Truth. I Noticed Them All: The Ones Who’d Lost Their Way, The Ones Who’d Lived Their Lives In Ashes, The Ones Who Had To Prove Themselves, The Ones Who, Like Me, Had Lost The Ability To Feel.

You Can Try To Take Sorrow And Make It Into Something Enduring, Meaningful And Beautiful. I Always Feel Guilty That This Is My Job, That I Get To Do This