All Of My Books Come

There’s No Grand Plan. All I Know Is That I Write The Books I Want To Write. All That Other Stuff Is Meaningless To Me.

When We Sat Down To Eat I Took Inventory Of The People In The Room, And The Remnants Of My Good Mood Evaporated When I Realized How Very Little I Had In Common With Them – The Career Dads, The Responsible And Diligent Moms – And I Was Soon Filled With Dread And Loneliness. I Locked In On The Smug Feeling Of Superiority That Married Couples Give Off And That Permeated The Air – The Shared Assumptions, The Sweet And Contented Apathy, It All Lingered Everywhere – Despite The Absence In The Room Of Anyone Single At Which To Aim This.

I Come To A Red Light, Tempted To Go Through It, Then Stop Once I See A Billboard Sign That I Don’t Remember Seeing And I Look Up At It. All It Says Is 'disappear Here' And Even Though It’s Probably An Ad For Some Resort, It Still Freaks Me Out A Little And I Step On The Gas Really Hard And The Car Screeches As I Leave The Light.

And Though The Coldness I Have Always Felt Leaves Me, The Numbness Doesn't And Probably Never Will. This Relationship Will Probably Lead To Nothing... This Didn't Change Anything. I Imagine Her Smelling Clean, Like Tea.

The Seeds Of Love Have Taken Hold And If We Won't Burn Together, I'll Burn Alone.