I Wish You All A Long And

Nothing Is Ever Certain.

How To Commit The Perfect Murder" Was An Old Game In Heaven. I Always Chose The Icicle: The Weapon Melts Away.

The Dead Are Never Exactly Seen By The Living, But Many People Seem Acutely Aware Of Something Changed Around Them. They Speak Of A Chill In The Air. The Mates Of The Deceased Wake From Dreams And See A Figure Standing At The End Of Thier Bed, Or In A Doorway, Or Boarding, Phantomlike, A City Bus.

I Was Trying To Prove To Them And To Myself That I Was Still Who I Had Always Been. I Was Beautiful, If Fat. I Was Smart, If Loud. I Was Good, If Ruined.

We Have This Desire For Everything To Be Explained To Us. But If You Go Through Your Daily Actions, Very Little Ends Up Having A Written-down Explanation For Why Things Happen, Or Why People Do Specific Things. So It Made Sense To Me To Reflect The Human Condition That Not Every Action Has An Explanation. We Act, And Then Later Maybe Come To An Understanding About It, Or Maybe Not.