Secrets Tear You Apart.

You'll Come To My Grave? To Tell Me Your Problems?" My Problems? "yes.' And You'll Give Me Answers? "i'll Give You What I Can. Don't I Always?" I Picture His Grave, On The Hill, Overlooking The Pond, Some Little Nine Foot Piece Of Earth Where They Will Place Him, Cover Him With Dirt, Put A Stone On Top. Maybe In A Few Weeks? Maybe In A Few Days? I See Myself Sitting There Alone, Arms Across My Knees, Staring Into Space. It Won't Be The Same, I Say, Not Being Able To Hear You Talk. "ah, Talk . . . " He Closes His Eyes And Smiles. "tell You What. After I'm Dead, You Talk. And I'll Listen.

You Should Be Convinced Of The Authenticity Of What You Have, But You Must Also Be Humble Enough To Say That We Don't Know Everything. And Since We Don't Know Everything, We Must Accept That Another Person May Believe Something Else.

She Felt Worthless And Hollow. There Was No Hope Of Fixing This. And When Hope Is Gone, Time Is Punishment.

This Is The Greatest Gift God Can Give You: To Understand What Happened In Your Life. To Have It Explained. It Is The Peace You Have Been Searching For.

Happiness In A Tablet. This Is Our World. Prozac. Daxil. Xanax. Billions Are Spent To Advertise Such Drugs. And Billions Are Spent Purchasing Them. You Don't Even Need A Specific Trauma, Just 'general Depression' Is Enough, Or Anxiety, As If Sadness Is As Treatable As The Common Cold.