This Was Always The Problem With My

It Took A Lot Of Work To Be Perfect. If You Didn’t Want To Break A Sweat, There Was No Point In Even Bothering.

Everything, In The End, Comes Down To Timing. One Second, One Minute, One Hour, Could Make All The Difference. So Much Hanging On Just These Things, Tiny Increments That Together Build A Life. Like Words Build A Story, And What Had Ted Said? One Word Can Change The Entire World.

I Wondered Which Was Harder, In The End. The Act Of Telling, Or Who You Told It To. Or Maybe If, When You Finally Got It Out, The Story Was Really All That Mattered.

The Silence Wasn't Like The Ones I'd Known Lately, Though: It Wasn't Empty As Much As Chosen. There's A Entirely Different Feel To Quiet When You're With Some-one Else, And At Any Moment It Could Be Broken. Like The Difference Between A Pause And An Ending.

When I Was In High School, I Was Always Really Envious Of Those Girls Who Seemed To Have Everything: The Perfect Hair, Perfect Clothes, Perfect Boyfriend, Perfect Life. It Wasn't Until I Was Older That I Realized That Nobody's Life Is Perfect, And That Those Girls Probably Had A Lot Of The Same Problems I Did.