Some People Are As Fragile As Butterflies

…deep-diving Love, A Love That Excavates You. It’s Something You Have To Have Before You Die In Order To Have Lived.

Dad Always Warned That It Was Misleading When One Imagined People, When One Sas Them In The Mind's Eye, Because One Never Remembered Them As They Really Were, With As Many Inconsistencies As There Were Hairs On A Human Head (100,000 To 200,000). Instead, The Mind Used A Lazy Shorthand, Smoothed The Person Over Into Their Most Dominating Characteristic--their Pessimism Or Insecurity (something Really Being Lazy, Turning Them Into Either Nice Or Mean)--and One Made The Mistake Of Judging Them From This Basis Alone And Risked, On A Subsequent Encounter, Being Dangerously Surprised.

Because Every One Of Us Has Our Box, A Dark Chamber Stowing The Thing That Lanced Our Heart. It Contains What You Do Everything For, Strive For, Wound Everything Around You.

Funnily Enough, It Is The Subject One Dreads Talking About At Length One Ends Up Talking About At Length, Often Without The Slightest Provocation.

Certainly One Of The Surprising Truths Of Having A Book Published Is Realizing That Your Book Is As Open To Interpretation As An Abstract Painting. People Bring Their Own Beliefs And Attitudes To Your Work, Which Is Thrilling And Surprising At The Same Time.