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.

No, Rodney King, people in this country can’t just ‘all get along’
Jesse Jackson Jr. demands Obama hire 15 million unemployed Americans
Unexpected twists took Carl from executive office to begging on street
Anatomy of a lie: Why destroy credibility by exaggerating facts?
What if the best you can offer to someone will never be enough?
When you’re finally facing death, how many people will love you?
Free speech is our natural right, not a gift granted by politicians
Will rising anger about personal economic pain lead to trouble soon?