It Was A Mistake," You Said. But

I Have Already Spent Roughly Five Thousand Hours Asleep Next To You. This Has To Mean Something.

That's What The Voices In Your Head Are For, To Get You Through The Silent Parts.

Things Are Going So Well. We’re Volleying Words Back And Forth. Everything She Says, I Have Something I Can Say Back. We’re Sparking, And Part Of Me Just Wants To Sit Back And Watch. We’re Clicking. Not Because A Part Of Me Is Fitting Into A Part Of Her. But Because Our Words Are Clicking Into Each Other To Form Sentences And Our Sentences Are Clicking Into Each Other To Form Dialogue And Our Dialogue Is Clicking Together To Form This Scene From This Ongoing Movie That’s As Comfortable As It Is Unrehearsed.

His Books Are Kept On Freestanding Shelves Hung At Different Angles On A Sea-green Wall. They Defy Gravity, As Good Books Should.

This Is What You Do Now To Give Your Day Topography--scan The Boxes, Read The News, See The Chain Of Your Friends Reporting About Themselves, Take The 140-character Expository Bursts And Sift Through For The Information You Need. It's A Highly Deceptive World, One That Constantly Asks You To Comment But Doesn't Really Care What You Have To Say. The Illusion Of Participation Can Sometimes Lead To Participation. But More Often Than Not, It Only Leads To More Illusion, Dressed In The Guise Of Reality.