Old As He Was, He Still Missed

Old As She Was, She Still Missed Her Daddy Sometimes.

I Don't Believe That Life Is Supposed To Make You Feel Good, Or To Make You Feel Miserable Either. Life Is Just Supposed To Make You Feel.

Time's Passage Through The Memory Is Like Molten Glass That Can Be Opaque Or Crystalize At Any Given Moment At Will: A Thousand Days Are Melted Into One Conversation, One Glance, One Hurt, And One Hurt Can Be Shattered And Sprinkled Over A Thousand Days. It Is Silent And Elusive, Refusing To Be Damned And Dripped Out Day By Day; It Swirls Through The Mind While An Entire Lifetime Can Ride Like Foam On The Deceptive, Transparent Waves And Get Sprayed Onto The Conciousness At Ragged, Unexpected Intervals.

We Get So Caught Up In What A Man Isn't. It's What He Is That Counts.

Not Only Is Your Story Worth Telling, But It Can Be Told In Words So Painstakingly Eloquent That It Becomes A Song.