And I Walked For Hours The Mist

I Could Picture Life—school And Everything Else—continuing On Without Me. But I Could Not Picture My Funeral. Not At All. Mostly Because I Couldn’t Imagine Who Would Attend Or What They Would Say.

Maybe If I Forgot Things Once In A While, We'd All Be A Little Bit Happier.

Betrayal. It's One Of The Worst Feelings.

As A Writer, My Only Responsibility Is To Tell A Compelling Story.

After All, How Often Do We Get A Second Chance?