It was a small room with dim light coming in the window, reminiscent of old Polish films.

Some things, you know, if you say them, it makes them not true?

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

Everything just blows me away.

Maybe the star doesnt even exist any more.Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.

My arm was not what she needed, but the arm of someone else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of someone else.

But knowing what I don’t want to do doesn’t help me figure out what I do want to do. I could do just about anything if somebody made me. But I don’t have an image of the one thing I really want to do. That’s my problem now. I can’t find the image.