There's All Different Kinds Of People, But

I Made Orange Juice From Concentrate And Showed Her The Trick Of Squeezing The Juice Of One Real Orange Into It. It Removes The Taste Of Being Frozen. She Marveled At This, And I Laughed And Said, Life Is Easy. What I Meant Was, Life Is Easy With You Here, And When You Leave, It Will Be Hard Again.

Look At The Sky: That Is For You. Look At Each Person's Face As You Pass Them On The Street: Those Faces Are For You. And The Street Itself, And The Ground Under The Street, And The Ball Of Fire Underneath The Ground: All These Things Are For You.

If You Were Wise Enough To Know That This Life Would Consist Mostly Of Letting Go Of Things You Wanted, Then Why Not Get Good At The Letting Go, Rather Than The Trying To Have?

You've Got The People You Know, Which Are Problematic. Always. They're Rich But They're Also Real People Living Their Lives Alongside You. Then You've Got The People That You Make-up Completely, Who Are Often Missing A Dimension If They Don't Have Some Reference To Real People. So Strangers Exist In This In-between Space, Where In Not Knowing Them, You Are Creating A Fiction For Them, Even In Passing, But At The Same Time, There They Are, With Their Actual Bodies And Their Actual Clothes. It's Totally Enticing.

It Is Terrible To Have To Ask For Anything Ever. We Wish We Were Something That Needed Nothing, Like Paint. But Even Paint Needs Repainting.