The True Writer, The Born Writer, Will

The True Writer, The Born Writer, Will Scribble Words On Scraps Of Litter, The Back Of A Bus Tickets, On The Wall Of A Cell.

In The Future, I'll Be Braver, She Told Herself. In The Future, I Will Always Speak My Mind, Eloquently, Passionately.

…and You Smile Back And Try Not To Think About The Fact That You Have Nothing, Absolutely Nothing, To Say To Each Other.

She Used To Pride Herself On Her Refusal To See Two Sides Of An Argument, But Increasingly She Accepts That Issues Are More Ambiguous And Complicated Than She Once Thought.

Sorry' He Said. 'no, I'm Sorry.' 'what Are You Sorry For?' 'rattling On Like A Mad Old Cow. I'm Sorry, I'm Tired, Bad Day, And I'm Sorry For Being So...boring.' 'you're Not That Boring.' 'i Am, Dex. God, I Swear I Bore Myself.' 'well, You Don't Bore Me.' He Took Her Hand In His. 'you Could Never Bore Me. You're One In A Million, Em.