I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.

In the middle of L.A.'s sunny non-winter, I need to sit in a dark closet to feel right.

But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?

If these walls could talk, I wonder what secrets they'd tell.

I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.

Closure. I loathe that word.

Leaving people to jumped conclusions is sometimes simpler than explaining a complicated truth