I Think Men Who Can Cry Are

My Life Is Routine. I Wake Up Early In The Morning. I Brush My Teeth. I Sit On The Floor Of The Cell I Do Not Go To Breakfast. I Stare At A Gray Cement Wall. I Keep My Legs Crossed My Back Straight My Eyes Forward. I Take Deep Breaths In And Out, In And Out, And I Try Not To Move. I Sit For As Long As I Can I Sit Until Everything Hurts I Sit Until Everything Stops Hurting I Sit Until I Lose Myself In The Gray Wall I Sit Until My Mind Becomes As Blank As The Gray Wall. I Sit And I Stare And I Breathe. I Sit And I Stare. I Breathe.

I Wanted To Be A Writer That Had An Impact. I Wanted, And Still I Say The Same Thing, I Want To Write Books That Change People's Lives, Change How We Think And Live And Read And Write. I Wanna Write Books That Are Read In 50 Or 100 Years.

But All Good Things Come To An End, Often A Sad Angry Miserable End. The Cause For Such An End Can Usually Be Whittled Down To One Of Three Things: Money, Sickness, Love Lost.

We Did What Our People Do All The Time, We Told Ourselves Something We Did Was Right And We Found A Way To Justify It, Even Though We Knew It Was Wrong.

There Is No Such Things As God's Word On Earth. Or If There Is It Is Not To Be Found In Books. -then Where Is It To Be Found?- In Love. In The Laughter Of Children. In A Gift Given. In A Life Saved. In The Quiet Of Morning. In The Dead Of Night. In The Sound Of The Ocean, Or The Sound Of A Car. It Can Be Found In Anything, Anywhere. It Is The Fabric Of Our Lives, Our Feelings, The People We Live With, Things We Know To Be Real.