He looks a hell of a lot like me, only a fair bit older.
Two Arts degrees does not a life make.
She taught me what's important, and what isn't. And I've never forgotten. And that's what mothers do, I say.
Men walk through tragedy, quietly, calm and precise on the outside, tearing themselves to shreds inside.
I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.
and I'm thinking as our bodies meet that I'll remember this forever, and i just hope it's for all the right reasons.