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.

Market failure? Why do we have so many overeducated people?
If voting really changed anything, governments would make it illegal
Listen as Aya Katz interviews me live about my close furry friends
Too many voices with little to say: Politics matters less and less to me
Here’s the jobs growth Obama promised—in federal workers
I don’t really hate you, honest; I’m just afraid you may hurt me
A broken heart is devastating, but closing yourself to love is worse
My political lens makes me think you’re crazy — and vice versa