I Know There Is A Moral To

We Move Through The Day Like Two Hands Of A Clock: Sometimes We Overlap For A Moment, Then Come Apart Again, Carrying On Alone. Everyday Exactly The Same: The Tea, The Burnt Toast, The Crumbs, The Silence.

The Moment Had Passed, The Door Between The Lives We Could Have Led And The Lives We Led Had Shut In Our Faces.

I Have Always Written About Characters Who Fall Somewhere In The Spectrum Between Solitary And Totally Alienated.

That's What I Do. Watch Movies And Read. Sometimes I Even Pretend To Write, But I'm Not Fooling Anyone. Oh, And I Go To The Mailbox.

It's One Of Those Unforgettable Moments That Happen As A Child, When You Discover That All Along The World Has Been Betraying You.