Lovers communicate not inside sentences, but between them. Passion lurks within interstice. It is grouting rather than bricks.

The only way my head was going truly somewhere else was to travel to a different life and not a different airport.

Kevin was a shell game in which all three cups were empty.

Though it may be more romantic to picture the bereaved as gaunt, I imagine you can grieve as efficiently with chocolates as with tap water.

Secrets bind and separate in strict accordance with who's in them .

For that matter, thinking of one's self as exceptional is probably more the rule than not.

Funny how the nature of a normal day is the first memory to fade.