Every Tiny Part Of Us Cries Out

If We Have Anything Kind To Say, Any Tender Sentiment To Express, We Feel A Sense Of Shame.

We Play Make Believe, Pretend To Take Ourselves And Each Other Seriously--to Love Each Other, Hate Each Other--but Then--it Isn't True. It Isn't True, We Don't Care At All!

Thought Itself Needs Words. It Runs On Them Like A Long Wire. And If It Loses The Habit Of Words, Little By Little It Becomes Shapeless, Somber.

It So Difficult To Know What The People We Love Really Need.

At Any Given Moment, I Open My Eyes And Exist. And Before That, During All Eternity, What Was There? Nothing.