You see, this happened a few months ago, but it’s still going on right now, and it ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.
I love you, Bro.
The past is unclear. It’s as if there is a film over those early years. I can’t even be sure that the things I remember happening really happened to me.
I want to hide from it, that’s what I want to do. I want to just close my eyes and let it pass by. Let it take the next man.
But dying is for the sweetest ones. And he remembers sweetness, when life was sweet, and sweetly he was given that other lifetime.
Write about what you know, and what do you know better than your own secrets?
I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.
Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from.