Flakes of white fall thru the trees and onto the road, catching on our clothes and hair. It's a silent fall and it's weird how it makes everything else seem quiet, too, like it's trying to tell you a secret, a terrible, terrible secret.

It's not the mistakes I made but how I responded to them

He was still alive. Which was the worst thing that could have happened.

We can save the world," I say, trying to smile. "You and me.

Because he KNEW he was doing wrong. He felt the PAIN of his actions'-- 'But he did not amen them,' shows the Sky. 'The rest are worth as much as their pack animals,' I show, 'but worst is the one who knows better and does NOTHING.

You love him," he says. Not an asking, just a fact. "I do," I say. Also a fact.

People say they want freedom, but what they really want is freedom from worry. If I take care of their problems, they don't mind being told what to do.