Something wonderful happened. I attempted to write “I live in San Francisco” but accidentally wrote “I love in San Francisco.” Both are true, so I kept the latter. It was out of context and confusing. But I think readers may prefer the diction once the words have soaked in.
This deep empathy – now nestled and emboldened in his own heart – sprouted flowers from stones.
I have a love hate relationship with coffee.
I love it and hate not having it.
writing is something you let happen through you; it is not something you do.
But then I read it all. And believed it all.
Now I am well rounded at on extremes, healthy in imagination, and in need of a stronger prescription for glasses.
When love gets out of hand it’s not that complicated. Just open your hands and grab it back.
I said to myself, "maybe, just maybe, I could find time for you in my busy busy work life."
What if public displays of affection included open invitations?
To be a freak, is to be insane.
To be an artist, is to expose people to their own insanity.
There's no logic or explanation for how two fall in love ... at least not in my experience. No reason why or how it happens. Any attempt to explain is just a wobble hop around the perimeter. SO, my response is a chunky run-on paragraph of what literally happens. Simple, a bit confused, renounced of justification and unprofound.
Napped on an ant hill. Now we walk 11 strong.
The static decay of chemical imbalance
Still tears a bit into my brain.
In slowed work
A trying calm
in a lost surrender.
Where's the hope?
Where's the meaning
How to cope
To better feeling
well, I don't know . . . We met. And it felt good. So we met again, and it felt good for me and her smile told me it felt good for her too so we met up a few more times and between then and now, me and her became us - and I don't have too much more to say after that.