It’s always the worst at night. I have no idea why.
That’s when the images and sounds flood my mind. It’s as though someone made a movie and I saw only the first part. I loved the movie and wanted to see all of it. I loved it so much that I wanted to live in it, but I couldn’t.
And then someone had all the images and sounds and smells and emotions from the rest of that movie — and feeds bits and pieces of them to me at random times. It’s warm and loving images of love and family and home and everything I’ve ever wanted.
There‘s a projector on the inside of my skull — and someone plays those images. What I see teases me and torments me, but I can’t make them go away. I don‘t even know whether I want them to go away.
She’s always there. But she’s not really there.

Listening to our own inner voice can be the toughest thing we do
‘Dad, is there really a Santa Claus?’ Should we lie to kids or tell truth?
Advice to fast food restaurant execs: stop ‘innovating,’ do the basics right
What’s at the root of objections to real freedom? Paternalism
Pro-free market candidates don’t promise price targets on gasoline
Documents force me to rethink some old beliefs about my father
False dichotomy: Your choice isn’t coercive state vs. lawlessness
Goodbye, Dagny (2004-2019)