I Would Always Be A Better Hater

Like Everything Else, Love's Not Worth Much Without Some Action To Back It Up.

Comely Was The Town By The Curving River That They Dismantled In A Year's Time. Beautiful Was Colleton In Her Last Spring As She Flung Azaleas Like A Girl Throwing Rice At A Desperate Wedding. In Dazzling Profusion, Colleton Ripened In A Gauze Of Sweet Gardens And The Town Ached Beneath A Canopy Of Promissory Fragrance.

American Men Are Allotted Just As Many Tears As American Women. But Because We Are Forbidden To Shed Them, We Die Long Before Women Do, With Our Hearts Exploding Or Our Blood Pressure Rising Or Our Livers Eaten Away By Alcohol Because That Lake Of Grief Inside Us Has No Outlet. We, Men, Die Because Our Faces Were Not Watered Enough.

Because She Deserved My Tears If Anyone On Earth Ever Did. I Could Feel The Tears Within Me, Undiscovered, And Untouched In Their Inland Sea. Those Tears Had Been With Me Always.

I've Always Found Paranoia To Be A Perfectly Defensible Position.