How Could I Do It, How Could

I Have The Belief In Boldness. What I Generally Lack Is The Boldness Itself. Because Boldness Doesn't Feel Bold. It Feels Scared Not Brave.

When He Was Dry, He Believed It Was Alcohol He Needed, But When He Had A Few Drinks In Him, He Knew It Was Something Else, Possibly A Woman; And When He Had It All -- Cash, Booze, And A Wife -- He Couldn't Be Distracted From The Great Emptiness That Was Always Falling Through Him And Never Hit The Ground.

Love And Violence-not To Conquer One With The Other But To Live With Both, That's What I've Learned. Each Pulling Me A Different Way. If I Relax My Struggles They Don't Tear Me In Two, But Lift Me Up.

This Wasn't The Sea Of The Inexorable Horizon And Smashing Waves, Not The Sea Of Distance And Violence, But The Sea Of The Etenally Leveling Patience And Wetness Of Water. Whether It Comes To You In A Storm Or In A Cup, It Owns You--we Are More Water Than Dust. It Is Our Origin And Our Destination.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.