Maybe we all just wanted someone to believe in. That's all each of us wanted, and it should be so simple, but it never was simple.

Cars are all jammed up all along the road and a light turns red and someone honks. In every one of those cars there is a story or a hundred stories. For every light on in al of those huge city buildings there is a story. No one knows what I am about to face and no one knows my story and neither do I right then.

We're as good at talking ourselves out of fear as into it, aren't we? Maybe better.

We are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding.

If you look up "charming" in the dictionary, you'll see that it not only has references to strong attraction, but to spells and magic. Then again, what are liars if not great magicians?

I put the guitar back in the case. I can't even look at it anymore. Instead, I want to make brownies. I want an end result there's a recipe for. I want to combine eggs and water and oil and chocolate and flour and sugar and vanilla and get something fulfilling.

A relationship could be a place to hide too.