It’s Hard, In America, Not To Equate

Life Had Been A Suit I'd Only Put On For Special Occasions. Most Of The Time I Kept It In The Back Of My Closet, Forgetting It Was There. We Were Meant To Die When It Was Barely Stitched Anymore, When The Elbows And Knees Were Stained With Grass And Mud, Shoulder Pads Uneven From People Hugging You All The Time, Downpours And Blistering Sun, The Fabric Faded, Buttons Gone.

The Late Great Horace Lloyd Swithin (1844-1917), British Essayist, Lecturer, Satirist, And Social Observer, Wrote In His Autobiographical Appointments, 1890-1901 (1902), "when One Travels Abroad, One Doesn't So Much Discover The Hidden Wonders Of The World, But The Hidden Wonders Of The Individuals With Whom One Is Traveling. They May Turn Out To Afford A Stirring View, A Rather Dull Landscape, Or A Terrain So Treacherous One Finds It's Best To Forget The Entire Affair And Return Home.

It’s Got To Be Some Kind Of Cult. Anyone Offers You Kool-aid Or A Hot Shower, Say No.

It's Not Fair. It's Not. But Then, That's The Game. It Makes Life Great. The Fact That It Ends When We Don't Want It To. The Ending Gives It Meaning.

Juliet And Romeo Be Damned, You Can't Be In Love Until You've Flossed Your Teeth Next To The Person At Least Three Hundred Times.