But There Was More, As There Always

I Always Think It's Silly When People Talk About Works Of Culture Taking Risks. Because There's Not Any Risk Involved.

Anyone Who Gives You A Cinnamon Roll Fresh Out Of The Oven Is A Friend For Life.

I’m Not A Romantic, I’m A Half-wit. Only Stupid People Would Think I’m Smart. I’m Not Something Anyone Should Know. I’m A Lunatic Wandering Around For Scraps, I’m Like Every Single Miserable Moron I’ve Scorned And Pretended I Didn’t Recognize. I’m All Of Them, Every Last Ugly Thing In A Bad Last-minute Costume. I’m Not Different, Not At All, Not Different From Any Other Speck Of A Thing. I’m A Blemished Blemish, A Ruined Ruin, A Stained Wreck So Failed I Can’t See What I Used To Be.

Strange As It May Seem, I Still Hope For The Best, Even Though The Best, Like An Interesting Piece Of Mail, So Rarely Arrives, And Even When It Does It Can Be Lost So Easily.

I Stayed There Loving You, Though The Love Made Me, Not Sad But I Guess Melancholy, For A Reason I Couldn’t Point To.