She Had A Laugh That Hinted It

Right Now, I Have No Idea What I Will Write Or If I Will Write Again.

A Man In A Desert Can Hold Absence In His Cupped Hands, Knowing It Is Something That Feeds Him More Than Water.

I Tend Not To Know What The Plot Is Or The Story Is Or Even The Theme. Those Things Come Later, For Me.

Over The Years, Confusing Fragments, Lost Corners Of Stories, Have A Clearer Meaning When Seen In A New Light, A Different Place.

To Write About Someone Like Myself Would Be Very Limiting.