I do not know the name of the man who built my house. I live there all the same. Everyday it is my comfort, my sanctuary. I long to be there when I am away and loathe to leave there when I'm home. And yet, I do not know the name of the man who built my house. It is where I rest. It is where I heal. It is where I dream of things that will happen one ( Read more... )

And so, another year. And yet, not another year. A year of growth and inspiration. A year of life. To anyone who may stumble upon this, I offer you the best of wishes. May your life have just enough pain to make the joys brighter, and not one ounce more. May your regrets lead to proud moments. May your weaknesses lead to strength. May your hungers ( Read more... )

Sometimes the wind tells me stories about lonely hours,
cutting to the bone with that emptiness that only comes with the cold.

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I can now see the barren landscape of my future. The once lush forests of my youth have become the deserts of my waning years. I can now see the towering mountain that will be home to my new solitude. I can hide, lick my wounds, and disappear.

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Her habits are easy to map. The day seems to be filled with a sort of malaise that brings her from one location to another. Her floating lifestyle makes it that much easier for me to forget she's anything but a target. I can see her form through the gossamer curtains of her bedroom window. She is pacing with a phone to her ear. The conversation has ( Read more... )

In my right hand there is a pistol. A marvel of art and function. It is curved like a lover's body snuggly resting against me. It is the tool of my trade. I am a killer. Most people don't understand the nuance of being a killer. They want it to be about a lack of morality or a lack of soul. They want it to be the overcoming your natural impulses ( Read more... )