And here he is again, yet things feel like they'll never be as easy between us as they once were.

As a writer, my only responsibility is to tell a compelling story.

Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you—just a tad—off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much—too tiring—and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.

It's hard to be disappointed when what you expected turns out to be true.

I waited a second. Should I? No... but I will.

This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.

Every reader is different. There's no book that's inappropriate for every person, but there are people who cannot handle everything.