It kills me how these days everyone has clinical justification for their strangeness.

History is changed by martyrs who tell the truth.

If our greatest fear is to sink away alone and unremembered, the brutality that time will inflict upon each of us will always run stronger than any river's murky waves.

We referenced fictional characters as if they were people to learn from. As if real-life people were too nebulous, too private and unreal for us to understand.

I'm home and safe and filled with the comfort of being somewhere I've already been. The ruckus of homecoming is brutally enjoyable and everyone makes me feel like a champion. And all I had to do was stay away long enough.

Being remembered is all anyone can ask from a lost love.

To be an honest writer, you have to be away from home, and totally alone in life.