I Wish I Knew How To Quit

It Is My Feeling That A Story Is Not Finished Until It Is Read, And That The Reader Finishes It Through His Or Her Life Experience, Prejudices, Worldview And Thoughts.

I Didn't Have A Chance To Buy You Anything," She Said, Then Held Both Closed Hands Toward Him. Uncurled Her Fingers. In Each Cupped Palm A Brown Egg. He Took Them. They Were Cold. He Thought It A Tender, Wonderful Thing To Do. She Had Given Him Something, The Eggs, After All, Only A Symbol, But They Had Come From Her Hands As A Gift. To Him. It Didn't Matter That He'd Bought Them Himself At The Supermarket The Day Before. He Imagined She Understood Him, That She Had To Love Him To Know That It Was The Outstreched Hands, The Giving, That Mattered.

We're All Strange Inside. We Learn How To Disguise Our Differences As We Grow Up.

...all Them Things I Don't Know Could Get You Killed If I Come To Know Them

If Life Was An Arc Of Light That Began In Darkness, Ended In Darkness, The First Part Of His Life Had Happened In Ordinary Glare. Here It Was As Though He Had Found A Polarized Lens That Deepened And Intensified All Seen Through It.