It All Meant Something. Until It Didn't.

You're Breaking Out Of Character, Again.

If You Want To Write About People, You Can Make It Up. But If You Spend Time Talking To Someone And Examining What It Is You Want To Write About, You Discover A Level Of Detail That You Wouldn't Have Noticed Otherwise.

Every Part Of My Body Felt Electric. My Chest Ached And My Head Throbbed With The Great Terrible Limitless Possibility Of The Morning, And When It Came, The Sky Was Washed White, Everything Was New, And I Hadn't Slept At All.

He Remained, Weeks After Awakening, In That Period Of Early-morning Consciousness That Allows Easy Re-entry To Dreaming. His Limbs Still Tingled With The Residue Of Sleep, And Most Days He Wanted Badly To Allow It To Overtake Him Again.

I Often Cannot Believe The Things I Do.