The Actual Writing Time Is A Lot

I'm A Little Bit Of A Control Freak.

I Remember One Time I Heard This English Professor Asking The Class What The World's Scariest Noise Is. Is It A Man Crying Out In Pain? A Woman's Scream Of Terror? A Gunshot? A Baby Crying? And The Professor Shakes His Head And Says, 'no, The Scariest Noise Is, You're All Alone In Your Dark House, You Know You're All Alone, You Know That There Is No Chance Anyone Else Is Home Or Within Miles—and Then, Suddenly, From Upstairs, You Hear The Toilet Flush.

Summer Romances Cometo An End. That Was Part Of The Deal. They Are Built Like Certain Plants Or Insects, Not Able To Survive More Than One Season. I Thought We Would Be Different. We Were, I Guess, But Not In The Way I Thought. I Truly Believed That We Would Never Let Each Other Go. The Young Are So Dumb.

In The End, We Know What Makes Us Happy. We Also Know What Makes Us Unhappy. That's The Irony. We Know And Yet We Still Mess It Up. That's Part Of The Human Condition, No, And Why We Need To Work On It.

Trust Is Like That. You Can Break It For A Good Reason. But It Still Remains Broken.