But What Was The Point Of Living

Writers Are Also Sort Of Like Vultures, But With Fewer Ethics.

How Do People Stay In Love, Anyway? Is It A Choice? Or Is It Like Those Plants We Studied In Biology That Mutate Into Something New And Totally Different But Are Still Part Of The Same Plant Family?

I Told Myself It Was The Snow—she Couldn’t Possibly Get To Philadelphia On The Roads. I Told Myself A Hundred Lies. Children Do That. It’s Amazing The Sorts Of Things You’ll Make Yourself Believe.

Maybe That's What Real Friendship Is -- Getting So Used To People That You Need To Be Annoyed By Them.

One Could Argue That It's Romantic To Die For Love. Of Course, Then You're Dead And Unable To Take That Honeymoon Trip To The Alps With All The Other Fashionable Young Couples, Which Is A Shame.