Ours was not a political household, when I was growing up.
With my friends, I don't feel pressure to be someone other than who I am.
People that keep stiff upper lips find that it's hard to smile.
I can write for a long time on one novel and not get tired.
The small seed of despair cracks open and sends experimental tendrils upward to the fragile skin of calm holding him together.
Two separate, distinct personalities, not separate at all, but inextricably bound, soul and body and mind, to each other, how did we get so far apart so fast?