The bittersweetness of uncertainty: To win or to lose.

She was a girl with a mountain to climb.

Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.

I guess when someone tells you something they they usually guard, you feel privileged, not because you know something no-one else knows, but because you feel chosen. You feel like that person wants her life to intersect with yours. I think that's what felt best about it.

I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

She was like a lone angel floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness.

Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.