If this was my instinct talking, I didn‟t want to hear what it was saying.

You can't make any one person your world. The trick is to take what each can give you and build a world from it.

There was no short answer to this; like so much else, it was a long story. But what really makes any story real is knowing someone will hear it. And understand.

Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.

But you only get so many do-overs in this life, so many chances to, if not change your past, alter your future.

Some writers pick a topic and write around that, but I like to include it all.

Everything always gets crazy at the end. You just have to keep going, regardless of how awful it gets. So that's what I do.