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.

I’m writing a book — and I’ll be talking about it as it progresses
Apologize while you still can, because you’ll live with regret
The egalitarian lie: Every group has leaders, even Occupy Wall Street
With bumbling federal response, terrorist attack achieved objectives
Maybe we’re doomed to replay past until we finally get it right
Food addiction means you’re missing something important that you need
How miserable does someone have to be to ‘troll’ a cute dog picture?
When the state turns you into a criminal, friends become enemies