It's Only His Thumb Brushing Slowly Across

All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

I Stare At The Pile Of Discarded Remnants And Think Of My Mother. Did She Touch That Pillar There? Does Her Scent Still Linger In A Fragment Of Glass Or A Splinter Of Wood? A Terrible Emptiness Settles Into My Chest. No Matter How Much I Go About Living, There Are Always Small Reminders That Make The Loss Fresh Again.

I Changed The World; The World Changed Me. Everything You Do Comes Back To You. When You Affect A Situation, You Are Also Affected.

...i Do Have To Wonder What Sort Of Childhood The Grimm Brothers Endured. They Are Not A Merry Bunch Of Storytellers, What With Their Children Roasted By Witches, Maidens Poisoned By Old Crones, And Whatnot.

I Can Be Whatever. You Can Be Whatever. We Can Be Whatever. Whatever, Together.