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.

Find the partner who needs you; don’t be someone’s backup plan
Which side should we take in Syria? Let’s just mind our own business
The more nutty a preacher becomes, the more rabid some supporters are
What really matters in life? Hardly any of the things we worry about
I’m a liar — and you are, too; most of all, we lie to ourselves
It’s a very old cliche, but it’s true: Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt
Gingrich threatens to skip debates if he can’t dictate audience rules
It’s wrong to silence anybody, even a nutcase like Alex Jones