I Have Become Very Good At Clearing

I Never Have People Tell Me Their Stories. I Usually Have To Figure Them Out Myself. Because I Know That If People Tell Me Stories, They Will Expect Them To Be Remembered. And I Cannot Guarantee That. There Is No Way To Know If The Stories Stay After I'm Gone. And How Devastating Would It Be To Confide In Someone And Have The Confidence Disappear? I Don't Want To Be Responsible For That.

I Have No Idea How He Knows When I Need Him. We Can Go Weeks Without Speaking, And Then, When My Blue Moods Threaten To Turn Black, He Will Show Up And Tell Me My Moods Are Azure Indigo Cerulean Cobalt Periwinkle And Suddenly The Blue Will Not Seem So Dark, More Like The Color Of A Noon-bright Sky. He Brings The Sun.

What Did It Matter To Me? Did I Think That By Making You Rational About One Thing, I Could Make You Rational About Everything? Maybe. Or Maybe I Just Wanted To Save You From Your Fears

I Cannot Think Of A Single Word To Describe What We Feel. I Think We All Feel It, To Varying Degrees. Perhaps In Some Other Language There Is A Word For 'the World Is Terribly Wrong.' That Feeling Of Stun And Unbelief And Abandonment And Shock And Horror And Distress.

Do Not Just Seek Happiness For Yourself. Seek Happiness For All. Through Kindness. Through Mercy.