If I Scribbled A Few Words On

It Felt As If We'd Been To War Together. Deep In A Jungle, Alone, I Had Relied On Them, These Strangers. They'd Held Me Up In Ways Only People Could. When It Was Over, An Ending Never Felt Like An Ending, Only An Exhausted Draw, We Went Our Separate Ways. Be We Were Bonded Forever By The History Of It, The Simple Fact They'd Seen The Raw Side Of Me And Me Of Them, A Side No One, Not Even Closest Friends Or Family Had Ever Seen Before, Or Probably Ever Would.

...i Couldn't Let Go Of The Thought That It Had, In Fact, Been He, Restless And Moody Heathcliff. Day After Day, He Floated Through All The Wal-marts In America, Searching For Me In A Million Lonely Aisles.

Such Things As Anguish, Woe, Affliction, Guilt, Feelings Of Awfulness, And Utter Wretchedness, The Bread And Butter Of Days Of Yore And Russians, Sadly Have Very Little Staying Power In These Lickety-split Modern Times.

Those Around You Can Have Their Novellas, Sweet, Their Short Stories Of Cliché And Coincidence, Occasionally Spiced Up With Tricks Of The Quirky, The Achingly Mundane, The Grotesque. A Few Will Even Cook Up Greek Tragedy, Those Born Into Misery, Destined To Die In Misery. But You, My Bride Of Quietness, You Will Craft Nothing Less Than Epic With Your Life. Out Of All Of Them, Your Story Will Be The One To Last.

It Was As If Hannah Had Sprung A Leak And Her Character, Usually So Meticulous And Contained, Was Spilling All Over The Place.