People Are Not Born Bastards. They Have

People Ask Me Why I Connected. It Was Presumptuous Of Me To Say, But I'm Everyman. The Difference Is I Put My Thoughts Into Words.

It Happens Just Because We Need To Want And To Be Wanted Too, When Love Is Here Or Gone To Lie Down In The Darkness And Listen To The Warm.

I Cannot Speculate On What Our Cluttered Mind Will Save- Sleepy Sundays, Or A Nosebleed After Love. I Know Only The Dying Heart Needs The Nourishment Of Memory To Live Beyond Too Many Winters.

Do Not Ask The Definition Of A Friend. He/she Is That One Without Whose Company Death And Dying Set In Earlier And Living Is Made More Pleasurable.

The World Needs Writers. We Will Always Be Necessary. There Are Few Professions That Can Claim That Distinction.