This is the forked tongue of grief again. It whispers in one ear: return to what you once loved best, and in the other ear it whispers, move on.

At some point you just have to turn around and face your life head on.

People wonder how they are ever going to change their lives, but really it is frighteningly easy.

However long the moon disappears, someday it must shine again.

You travel here and you travel there, trying to get out from under the cloud, and nothing works, and then one day you realize you've been carrying the weather around with you.

If I can't write it would be as if I died.

I'm really interested in people's decisions.