Lost Love Is Still Love. It Takes

She Loved Me Coming And Going, At My Worst And At My Best. She Had A Bottomless Well Of Love For Me.

It's Amazing The Fantasies Your Mind Can Put Together.

Instead, He Would Make Death His Final Project, The Center Point Of His Days. Since Everyone Was Going To Die, He Could Be Of Great Value, Right? He Could Be Research. A Human Textbook. Study Me In My Slow And Patient Demise. Watch What Happens To Me. Learn With Me.

I Find Interesting Characters Or Lessons That Resonate With People And Sometimes I Write About Them In The Sports Pages, Sometimes I Write Them In A Column, Sometimes In A Novel, Sometimes A Play Or Sometimes In Nonfiction. But At The Core I Always Say To Myself, 'is There A Story Here? Is This Something People Want To Read?'

But Then She Did. She Died. No More Visits, No More Phone Calls. And Without Even Realizing It, I Began To Drift, As If My Roots Had Been Pulled, As If I Were Floating Down Some Side Branch Of A River.