When We Can't See A Pattern, We

I Have Always Been Caught By The Pull Of The Unremarkable, By The Easily Missed, Infinitely Nourishing Beauty Of The Mundane.

Her Forehead Was A Maze Of Anxious Little Grooves, From A Lifetime Of Wondering About Whether Everyone Within Range Was Ok.

Sarte Was Right, Hell Is Other People

Over Time, The Ghosts Of Things That Happened Start To Turn Distant; Once They've Cut You A Couple Of Million Times, Their Edges Blunt On Your Scar Tissue, They Wear Thin. The Ones That Slice Like Razors Forever Are The Ghosts Of Things That Never Got The Chance To Happen.

A Bore Or An Uggo Might Manage Not To Get Up Anyone's Nose, But If A Girl's Got Brains And Looks And Personality, She's Going To Piss Someone Off, Somewhere Along The Way.