Sometimes We Have Absolutely No Idea Where

The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life, And I’m Not Sure I Want To Be Here. I Know I Should Be Thanking Somebody For This, But I Really Don’t Feel Like It. Instead, I Wish They Hadn’t Bothered.

Maybe Love Is Thinking That Every Time Your Partner Does Or Says Something Mundane That You Want To Start A Mexican Wave From Here To Uzbekistan In Utter Delight.

I Don't Know Why Men Like To Barbecue So Much. Maybe Its The Only Thing They Can Cook. Or Maybe They're Just Closet Pyromaniacs.

Elizabeth’s Hands Flew To Her Mouth; Tears Filled Her Eyes With Happiness As She Realized He Was Fulfilling Yet Another Of Her And Her Mother’s Intended Activities. “why Are You Fulfilling All Of My Mother’s Dreams?” She Asked, Studying His Face And Searching For Answers. “so You Don’t Run Away Like She Did In Search Of Them,” He Replied, Taking Her Hand. “come On, Join In!” He Said, Leaping Around.

Journalism Classes Teach Us That One Must Extract Oneself From The Story In Order To Report Without Bias, But Often We Need To Be In The Story In Order To Understand, To Connect, To Help The Audience Identify Or Else It Has No Heart; It Could Be A Robot Telling The Story, For All Anyone Cares.