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I realized too late that to win, you have to lose yourself, and it seems I was missing more than just the tact of the matter. Like a doctor who took too long to prescribe the right medication, I could never find just the right combination of words to say, to my journal or to your face, so I retreated and left you unsure as to what we were.

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There was determination in the dry wall, like nothing I’d ever seen, it was a whisper to the back of the head more destructive than the games we play, to figure, to shape like a day with out the sun, I told myself it was better off. Executive magic, less sense before the fail, fall or departure she ended with a nail. Leave the racks in the ceiling ( Read more... )