The Town Was Paper, But The Memories

He Let His Mind Wander. It Went To A Predictable Place, And He Missed Her

And, Since They Are Theater People, They Are All Talking. All Of Them. Simultaneously. They Do Not Need To Be Heard; They Only Need To Be Speaking.

It's Almost As If The Way You Imagine My Dead Self Says More About You Than It Says About Either The Person I Was Or The Whatever I Am Now.

In The End, What You Do Isn't Going To Be Nearly As Interesting Or Important As Who You Do It With.

And Yes, Again, That Was It Exactly. A Retyper And Not A Writer. A Prodigy And Not A Genius.