Who Has Never Killed An Hour?

For Some Reason, You Will No Longer Be The Person You Believed You Once Were. You'll Detect Slow And Subtle Shifts Going On All Around You, More Importantly Shifts In You. Worse, You'll Realize It's Always Been Shifting, Like A Shimmer Of Sorts, A Vast Shimmer, Only Dark Like A Room. But You Won't Understand Why Or How.

We All Create Stories To Protect Ourselves.

Make No Mistake, Those Who Write Long Books Have Nothing To Say. Of Course Those Who Write Short Books Have Even Less To Say.

You Shall Be My Roots And I Will Be Your Shade, Though The Sun Burns My Leaves. You Shall Quench My Thirst And I Will Feed You Fruit, Though Time Takes My Seed. And When I'm Lost And Can Tell Nothing Of This Earth You Will Give Me Hope. And My Voice You Will Always Hear. And My Hand You Will Always Have. For I Will Shelter You. And I Will Comfort You. And Even When We Are Nothing Left, Not Even In Death, I Will Remember You.

Even The Closest Relationships That I Have I Know Could Potentially Fall Away. That's Not To Speak Pessimistically Or Negatively About Those Relationships. In A Weird Way, It's The Opposite. I Value Them.