You Bat Your Baby Blues At Tall,

I Was...a Journalist...though My Typical Beat Was Freelancing Articles On Canadian Politics, Which Never Included Any Mention Of Demonic Phenomena, Though It Might Explain The Rise Of The Neoconservatives.

I Wanted To Walk Over There. I Wanted To Curl Up Beside Him, Lean Against Him, Talk To Him. I Wanted To Know What He Was Thinking. I Wanted To Tell Him Everything Would Be Okay. And I Wanted Him To Tell Me The Same Thing. I Didn't Care If It Was True Or Not- I Just Wanted To Say It. To Hear It, To Feel His Arms Around Me, Hear The Rumble Of His Words, That Deep Chuckle That Made Me Pulse Race

I'm Suprised He Doesn't Send Christmas Cards," Antonio Said. "i Can See Them Now. Tasteful, Embossed Veilum Cards, The Best He Can Steal. Little Notes In Perfect Penmanship,"happy Holidays. Hope Everyone Is Well. I Sliced Up Ethan Ritter In Miami And Scattered His Remains In The Atlantic. Best Wishes For The New Year. Karl.

Life Experience. I Can Talk It Up, Vow To Broaden My Horizons, But I’m Still Limited To The Experiences With My Life. How Can A Person Understand An Experience That Lies Completely Outside Her Own? She Can See It, Feel It, Imagine What It Would Be Like To Live It, But It’s No Different From Seeing A Movie On A Screen And Saying, “thank God That’s Not Me”.

I Hear Voices. A Shout. A Laugh. Clay's Laugh. I Strained To See Through The Night. Fog Had Rolled In From Lake Ontario, But I Could Hear Him Laughing. The Concrete Turned To Grass. The Fog Wasn't From The Lake, But From A Pond. Our Pond. I Was At Stonehaven, Bounding Through The Back Acres. Clay Was Running Ahead Of Me.