Any Librarian Or Scholar Will Tell You:

I Stare At The Pile Of Discarded Remnants And Think Of My Mother. Did She Touch That Pillar There? Does Her Scent Still Linger In A Fragment Of Glass Or A Splinter Of Wood? A Terrible Emptiness Settles Into My Chest. No Matter How Much I Go About Living, There Are Always Small Reminders That Make The Loss Fresh Again.

Travel Opens Your Mind As Few Other Things Do.

She's No Beauty, Mate

In A World Like This One, Only The Random Makes Sense.

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him. For Several Nights Now He’s Come To Me, Waving From A Distant Shore As If He’s Been Waiting Patiently For Me To Arrive. He Doesn’t Utter A Word, But His Smile Says Everything: I’ve Missed You.