I Don't Think There's Anything Wrong Being

Comic-con Was Crazy, Good Crazy... Five Minutes After I'm Done, The Cast Of 'twilight' Is Where I Was Sitting.

Trapped In Silence, Marco Traces Apologies And Adorations Across Celia's Body With His Tongue. Mutely Expressing All The Things He Cannot Speak Aloud. He Finds Other Ways To Tell Her, His Fingers Leaving Faint Trails Of Ink In Their Wake. He Savors Every Sound He Elicits From Her. The Entire Room Trembles As They Come Together. And Though There Are A Great Many Fragile Objects Contained Within It, Nothing Breaks.

I Find I Think Of Myself Not As A Writer So Much As Someone Who Provides A Gateway, A Tangential Route For Readers To Reach The Circus. To Visit The Circus Again, If Only In Their Minds, When They Are Unable To Attend It Physically. I Relay It Through Printed Words On Crumpled Newsprint, Words That They Can Read Again And Again, Returning To The Circus Whenever They Wish, Regardless Of Time Of Day Or Physical Location. Transporting Them At Will. When Put That Way, It Sounds Rather Like Magic, Doesn't It? P.369

Even The Air Feels Different On Halloween, Autumn-crisp And Bright.

I Have Read For Countless People On Innumerable Subjects And The Most Difficult Thing To Understand Within The Cards Is Always The Timing. I Knew That, And Still It Surprised Me. How Long I Was Willing To Wait For Something That Was Only A Possibility. I Always Thought It Was Just A Matter Of Time But I Was Wrong.