Being A Writer Means Taking The Leap

With Children The Clock Is Reset. We Forget What Came Before

You Are Still Young, Free.. Do Yourself A Favor. Before It's Too Late, Without Thinking Too Much About It First, Pack A Pillow And A Blanket And See As Much Of The World As You Can. You Will Not Regret It. One Day It Will Be Too Late.

And Wasn't It Terrible, How Much He Looked Forward To Those Moments, So Much So That Sometimes Even A Ride By Himself On The Subway Was The Best Part Of The Day? Wasn't It Terrible That After All The Work One Put Into Finding A Person To Spend One's Life With, After Making A Family With That Person, Even In Spite Of Missing That Person...that Solitude Was What One Relished The Most, The Only Thing That, Even In Fleeting, Diminished Doses, Kept One Sane?

They Were Things For Which It Was Impossible To Prepare But Which One Spent A Lifetime Looking Back At, Trying To Accept, Interpret, Comprehend. Things That Should Never Have Happened, That Seemed Out Of Place And Wrong, These Were What Prevailed, What Endured, In The End.

Most People Trusted In The Future, Assuming That Their Preferred Version Of It Would Unfold. Blindly Planning For It, Envisioning Things That Weren't The Case. This Was The Working Of The Will. This Was What Gave The World Purpose And Direction. Not What Was There But What Was Not.