Yes It's Difficult. Yes It's

We Had Come Here To Have A Break From Thoughts And The Hard Work That Came With The Constant Interaction With Idiots. Or At Least People We Considered Idiots Because They Were Not Mind Readers And We Had To, Patiently, Use Polite Words To Explain Things That We Were Thinking When Really Inside We Were Fighting The Urge To Take Their Heads In Our Hands And Softly And Repeatedly Thud Their Foreheads Off The Wall.

I'm Most Happy When I Am Writing At Night, Because I Need Space And Time To Write.

Every Single Ordinary Person Has An Extraordinary Story.

You Never Forget About Things You've Done That You Know You Shouldn't Have Done. They Hang Around Your Mind, Linger Like A Thief Casing A Joint For A Future Job. You See Them There, Dramatically Lurking Nearby In Striped Monochrome, Leaping Behind Postboxes As Soon As Your Head Whips Around To Confront Them. Or It's A Familiar Face In A Crowd That You Glimpse But Then Lose Sight Of. An Annoying Where's Wally? Forever Locked Away And Hidden In Every Thought In Your Conscience. The Bad Thing That You Did, Always There To Let You Know.

Have You Ever Not Known Something But Known It At The Same Time?