Time Heals All Wounds. But Not This

My Mother Used To Hope That I Would Rise Up From My Humble Roots. Become Someone Sucessful, Or Even Famous. I'm Famous All Right, But I Don't Think It's What She Had In Mind.

Day Appears Again. This Time He Leans In Close Enough For His Hair To Brush, Light As Silk, Against My Cheeks. He Pulls Me Towards For A Long Kiss. The Scene Vanishes, Replaced Abruptly By A Stormy Night And Day Struggling Through The Rain, Blood Dripping From His Leg And Leaving A Trail Behind Him. He Collapses Onto His Knees In Front Of Razor Before The Whole Scene Disappears Again.

Then I Realize From The Hollow Sound Of Her Gun's Click That Her Gun Isn't Loaded. Apparently She Just Wants To Slap Me Around With It.

I Hope,” He Replies Softly, “to Get To Know You Again. If You Are Open To It. There Is A Fog Around You That I Would Like To Clear Away.

To Love Is To Be Afraid. You Are Frightened, Deathly Terrified, That Something Will Happen To Those You Love. Think Of The Possibilities. Does Your Heart Clench With Each Thought? That, My Friend, Is Love. And Love Enslaves Us All, For You Cannot Have Love Without Fear.