What are you doing?" Nothing. Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Running is many things to me: survival, calmness, euphoria, solitude. It is proof of my corporeal existence, my ability to control my movement through space if not time, and the obedience, however temporary, of my body to my will. As I run I displace air, and things come and go around me, and the path moves like a filmstrip beneath my feet.

I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble

Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me; maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.

I place my hands over her ears and tip her head back, and kiss her, and try to put my heart into hers, for safekeeping, in case I lose it again.

There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.

I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way.