All The Secrets Of The World Are

This Feeling Is Not Unlike The Sinking In One's Stomach When One Is In An Elevator That Suddenly Goes Down, Or When You Are Snug In Your Bed And Your Closet Door Suddenly Creaks Open To Reveal The Person Who Has Been Hiding There.

It's Different," You Said. "you've Made, Min, Everything Different For Me. Everything's Like Coffee You Made Me Try, Better Than I Ever - Or The Places I Didn't Even Know Were Right On The Street, You Know? I'm Like This Thing I Saw When I Was Little, Where A Kid Hears A Noise Under His Bed And There's A Ladder There That's Never Been There Before, And He Climbs Down And, It's For Kids I Know, But This Song Starts Playing..." Your Eyes Were Traveling In The Treey Light.

A Man Of My Acquaintance Once Wrote A Poem Called "the Road Less Traveled", Describing A Journey He Took Through The Woods Along A Path Most Travelers Never Used. The Poet Found That The Road Less Traveled Was Peaceful But Quite Lonely, And He Was Probably A Bit Nervous As He Went Along, Because If Anything Happened On The Road Less Traveled, The Other Travelers Would Be On The Road More Frequently Traveled And So Couldn't Hear Him As He Cried For Help. Sure Enough, That Poet Is Dead.

Dumping You Times Infinity. Still Not Enough.

There Was Still Plenty Of Water In The Basement, And I Felt It Soaking Me From The Knees On Down. If Someone Wanted To Torture Me Until I Told Them A Critical Piece Of Information, All They Would Have To Do Is Get My Socks Wet. It Feels Terrible.