It's not a big thing, but I guess it's true--big things are often just small things that are noticed.

Yes, I'm often reminded of her, and in one of my array of pockets, I have kept her story to retell. It is one of the small legion I carry, each one extraordinary in its own right. Each one an attempt - an immense leap of an attempt - to prove to me that you, and your human existence, are worth it.

The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both.

You'll have days of complete lack of faith in your abilities. But you have to keep coming back. That's when you know you're a writer - when you take the failures and appear at the desk again, over and over again.

I traveled the globe as always, handing souls to the conveyor belt of eternity.

The city buildings in the distance are holding up the sky, it seems.

The song was born on her breathe and died at her lips.