On my way home, I almost cried. Partly because I forgot how hard leaving you is, but partly because I wanted to be able to say these things, I want to go home to you, not home.

Who am I?

I have this theory. Of course, it's not universally true, and it's not true all the time, so, I guess it's more of a hypothesis. It seems to me that life is a series of mistakes. There are, of course, the conventional types of mistakes, things you do wrong, or end up wrong; these things happen; they are accidental. But beyond that, everything you ( Read more... )

The way I see it, writing has to be about more than just getting rich or getting famous. If your goal is to get rich, well, chances are you've picked the wrong profession. Writing certainly isn't the most lucrative career option, and it's pretty unlikely for a writer to succeed at all, much less make a fortune. If you're interested in fame, well, ( Read more... )

I find it strange how when a little coincidence happens people always say, "Funny how that works," as though it is a normal thing that happens all the time. But no one ever says, "Funny how that doesn't work," when those things don't happen. Is that because we'd like to believe that somehow everything really is connected? Like the blanket? But ( Read more... )

Someone a lot smarter than me once said she didn't have any secrets. Until about three weeks ago I felt the same way. Now, I'm slowly destroying myself, making more and more of them. So "Maybe, if something is really, truly, a secret, you don't tell anybody because it hides itself when it comes up." Or maybe it would just kill people, so I can't.

It's a prefix meaning one.

When I was small enough to raise caterpillars into monarch butterflies, there was one night I remember so clearly. We were having spaghetti for dinner, and my mom was boiling the pasta on the stove. She told me, time and time again, Don't touch the pot on the oven. It's hot, she said, It'll burn you if you touch it. But like all humans, we never ( Read more... )

Love is selfish.

The blonde haired, brown eyed girl sat next to the messy haired boy on the bed. She had the voice of an angel. The kind of voice that takes you apart piece by piece, recreating you in its own image. Or maybe he was already predisposed to falling in-- somewhere. He was naive, but not naive enough to claim it was love, or anything close. He just ( Read more... )