Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

forced intimacy

unsuspecting muse

As though it's imbued with some sort of power.

She said she suffered from a disease called perfectionism. In the end I think that's what killed her.

It's liberating, talking about my family.

I know, I'm anal.

Then he told me he loved me. I believed him.

symbolic clutter

Ambition. My dirty little secret.

I consider resucitating my murder theory.

I move away from them...

The gallery is crowded, but we are  alone in the middle of a space between people.

"...Like she's transported you somehow, to another place." "I'm not sure I really want to go to that place."

There's something really sexy... about someone this smart. (Oh boy, I knew this for ages.)

Zach strikes me as one of those people who appreciate when life should be celebrated. He's probably the kind of guy who would throw you a surprise party for your birthday, or send you flowers because it's Friday.

Evocative.

I suspect he's probably good at most things he does.

Oh, God, the thought occurs to me then; I'm the third wheel. And I don't even know it.

God, is that you?

Time, money, encouragement. Talent.

Dude, you call it art, it is art.

Although entirely against my will I seem to be falling in love with Zach Roberts. That I appear to have no say in this matter baffles me.

My heart lurches at the sound of his name.

Isn't this the ultimate irony?

And I told you, he's not the one.

... and all seems right again in the world the way it does sometimes in the company of a good friend.

Maybe that's why anyone collects anything. To feel a connection.