Some Choices You Make With Your Heart

I Locked The Door, For What Good It Would Do Me, And Went To Bed. The Browning Hi-power Was In Its Second Home, A Modified Holster Strapped To The Headboard Of My Bed. The Crucifix Was Cool Metal Around My Neck. I Was As Safe As I Was Going To Be And Almost Too Tired To Care. I Took One More Thing To Bed With Me, A Stuffed Toy Penguin Named Sigmund. I Don't Sleep With Him Often, Just Every Once In A While After Someone Tries To Kill Me. Everyone Has Their Weaknesses. Some People Smoke. I Collect Stuffed Penguins. If You Won't Tell, I Won't.

Like Most Creative People I Don't Fit Well Into Boxes.

I Cannot Do It. I Cannot Bear It. I Cannot Go Back To What I Was Here. I Cannot Stand At Her Side And Watch Another Take Her. I Am Not That Strong Or That Good.

You Cannot Die Of Grief, Though It Feels As If You Can. A Heart Does Not Actually Break, Though Sometimes Your Chest Aches As If It Is Breaking. Grief Dims With Time. It Is The Way Of Things. There Comes A Day When You Smile Again, And You Feel Like A Traitor. How Dare I Feel Happy. How Dare I Be Glad In A World Where My Father Is No More. And Then You Cry Fresh Tears, Because You Do Not Miss Him As Much As You Once Did, And Giving Up Your Grief Is Another Kind Of Death.

Is Death Such A High Price To Pay, When You Will Die Anyway?