What Molds Us Is What Maims Us.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)

How Am I Supposed To Let You Go, That's All I'm Asking. I Want To Hold You Again, Smell You, And, Yes Too, I Just Want You To Fade. To Please, Please Fade.

I Was Blessed To Grow Up In Really Interesting Times And To Go Back To A Home Where I Was Very Safe.

Waking, After All, Was An Almost Natal State. You Surfaced Without History, Then Spent The Blinks And Yawns Reassembling Your Past, Shuffling The Shards Into Chronological Order Before Fortifying Yourself For The Present.

Catch Me On A Good Day, I Think Half Of My Books Aren't Too Bad. Catch Me On A Bad Day, I Think I've Never Written A Good Line.