I Collect Records. And Cats. I Don't

It's Like Tolstoy Said. Happiness Is An Allegory, Unhappiness A Story.

Unclose Your Mind. You Are Not A Prisoner. You Are A Bird In Flight, Searching The Skies For Dreams.

There Are Ways Of Dying That Don't End In Funerals. Types Of Death You Can't Smell.

I Laughed. “you’re Too Young To Be So … Pessimistic,” I Said, Using The English Word. “pessi-what?” “pessimistic. It Means Looking Only At The Dark Side Of Things.” “pessimistic … Pessimistic …” She Repeated The English To Herself Over And Over, And Then She Looked Up At Me With A Fierce Glare. “i’m Only Sixteen,” She Said, “and I Don’t Know Much About The World, But I Do Know One Thing For Sure. If I’m Pessimistic, Then The Adults In This World Who Are Not Pessimistic Are A Bunch Of Idiots.

What We Needed Were Not Words And Promises But A Steady Accumulation Of Small Realities.