37 7 0
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My trees sway in the breezes from the shore. My house ruffles its feathers as sand dusts the sides. My flowers arc to the ground.
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162700
|
The future? I can’t see it, my imagination dies out when I try. Because every time I think about becoming a father to a baby girl I remember Kelly Kominsky, and what a merciless shit I was.
|
204441
|
As I sat down finally, finally to write,
some brooding heretical hour of the night, with my ballpoint in hand, poised to blot page, Time gathered momentum, although I did not age...
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108120
|
I love reading about myself. There's nothing more gratifying than seeing my name in the paper, knowing so many people are interested in who I am and what I do.
|
108874
|
Kids said the boiler room was haunted. I don’t know if it was true then but it sure is now.
|
137752
|
On some evenings, when I would sneak out of my room, I'd sit on the verandah and count the streetlights. I'd count the stars in the sky and trace the moon with the tip of my finger and consider how anyone could make it through the night when there were so
|
136586
|
"Love, against the dying of the light." (An unusual story about George Whitman, former owner of the revered & beloved Shakespeare & Company bookstore in Paris, France.)
|
19662018
|
The doctor told me:
"You have 24 hours
to live.
no more, no less."
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