There Is An Ancient Tribal Proverb I

Think: Who Has Vans, Huh? Soccer Moms And Serial Killers.

In A World Like This One, Only The Random Makes Sense.

When I Dream, I Dream Of Him. For Several Nights Now He’s Come To Me, Waving From A Distant Shore As If He’s Been Waiting Patiently For Me To Arrive. He Doesn’t Utter A Word, But His Smile Says Everything: I’ve Missed You.

They Misspelled 'party.' How Evil Genius Can They Be?

Sometimes I See Things, I Think. Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, Taunting Me, And Then It’s Gone. And Dreams. Such Horrible Dreams. What If Something Terrible Happened To Me? What If I Am Damaged?" The Rain Is A Cool Kiss On My Sleeve As I Link My Arm With Hers. "we’re All Damaged Somehow.