Sometimes," He Sighed, "i Think

Nothing Is As Bleak As The Future, Except The Past.

All At Once I Felt So Vain, Like A Girl Posturing For The Crowds As She Walks Along, Only To Discover The Street Is Empty.

It Was What We Japanese Called The Onion Life, Peeling Away A Layer At A Time And Crying All The While.

What An Unbearable Sorrow It Would Be, To Realized I'd Never Really Tasted To Things I'd Eaten, Or Seen The Places I'd Been. What Life Would I Have? I Would Be Like The Dancer Who Had Practiced Since Childhood For A Performance She Would Never Give.

How Many Times Already Had I Encountered The Painful Lesson That Although We May Wish For The Barb To Be Pulled From Our Flesh, It Leaves A Welt That Doesn't Heal?