Call It Crazy, Or Just Chicken Salad.

How Weird That Must Be, To Stay The Same As Everyone Else Changes.

It's So, So Stupid What We Do To Ourselves Because We're Afraid. It's So Stupid.

It Was Always Late At Night, When Everything And Everyone Else Was Quiet, That Those Voices Would Rise Like Ghosts, Soft And Haunting, Filling Your Mind Until Sleep Finally Came.

How Weird Was It That So Many Bits And Pieces, All Diverse, Could Make Something Whole. Something With Potential. 'perfect.

I'm Always Hopeful. I Feel Like I'm At The Prom Sitting Against The Wall Waiting For Someone To Ask Me To Dance.