Love Is Art, Not Truth. It’s Like

I Wished For Eternal And Intriguing Muteness. I Would Be The Mysterious Dumb Girl, The Enigmatic Elf. The Human Voice No Longer Interested Me.

Awkwardness Is Where Tension Is, And Tension Is Where The Story Is. It's Also Where The Comedy Is, Which I'm Interested In; When It Resolves It Tends To Resolve Toward Melancholy, A Certain Resignation, Which I Find Interesting As Well.

I Often Think That At The Center Of Me Is A Voice That At Last Did Split, A House In My Heart So Invaded With Other People And Their Speech, Friends I Believed I Was Devoted To, People Whose Lives I Can Simply Guess At Now, That It Gives Me The Impression I Am Simply A Collection Of Them, That They All Existed For Themselves, But Had Inadvertently Formed Me, Then Vanished. But, What: Should I Have Been Expected To Create My Own Self, Out Of Nothing, Out Of Thin, Thin Air And Alone?

They Had, Finally, The Only Thing Anyone Really Wants In Life: Someone To Hold Your Hand When You Die.

Humor Comes From The Surprise Release Of Some Buried Tension.