Yet War Doesn't End With Armistice, It

The Only Bad Days As A Writer Are The Ones When You Are Too Cowardly Or Too Lazy To Sit Down At The Keyboard And Give It Everything You Have.

This Is The Forked Tongue Of Grief Again. It Whispers In One Ear: Return To What You Once Loved Best, And In The Other Ear It Whispers, Move On.

Sad Words Are Just Another Beauty. A Sad Story Means, This Storyteller Is Alive

I Do Think It Is Harder To Acknowledge Our Strengths, Or To Forgive Ourselves And Each Other For Our Shortcomings, When There Has Not Been A Result We Can All Agree On.

Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.