I'm A Grenade And At Some Point

She Had The Kind Of Eyes That Predisposed You To Supporting Her Every Endeavor.

It Looked Like An Old Painting, But Real - Everything Achingly Idyllic In The Morning Light - And I Thought About How Wonderfully Strange It Would Be To Live In A Place Where Almost Everything Had Been Built By The Dead.

The Past Feels Distant, Even When It's Near. The Future Feels Assured, Even When It Isn't.

As A Reader, I Don't Feel A Story Has An Obligation To Make Me Happy. I Want Stories To Show Me A Bigger World Than The One I Know.

It Was Nice - In The Dark And The Quiet... And Her Eyes Looking Back, Like There Was Something In Me Worth Seeing.