When Your About To Criticize Someone Walk

Bridget Cried For The Leavers And The Left. For The People, Like Herself, Grimly Forsaking What Precious Gifts They Would Ever Get.

Maybe They Would Look At Each Other And Feel Some Odd Yearning, But Neither Of Them Would Know Why. They Would Want To Stop, But They Would Be Embarrassed, And Neither Would Know What To Say. They Would Go Their Separate Ways. Who Knew? Maybe That Happened Every Day To People Who'd Once Loved Each Other.

Pain Is Fear, And I'm Not Afraid.

I Allowed Myself To Suffer How Jarringly Destructive The Present Feels And How Fragile The Past.

Developing Characters Is A Strange Thing. In The Beginning They Are Abstract And I Wonder How To Move On From There.