I Wanted Myself. I Wouldn't

I Stared Into Her Eyes, Wide Under The Thick Fringe Of Lashes, And Yearned For Sleep. Not For Oblivion, As I Had Before, Not To Escape Boredom, But Because I Wanted To *dream*. Maybe, If I Could Be Unconscious, If I Could Dream, I Could Live For A Few Hours In A World Where She And I Could Be Together. She Dreamed Of Me. I Wanted To Dream Of Her.

No, Actually 'the Host' Was Totally A Palate-cleanser For Me. I Wanted To Do Something A Little Bit Different Than Romantic Love. Romantic Love Is In There, Obviously, Because I Enjoy Writing About That And Living It A Lot.

Sometimes, Kismet Happens.

It's Not What You Are. It's What You Do.

What If I'm Not A Superhero. What If I'm The Bad Guy?