They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think the same could be said for time.
William looked up… through his tears… past the catwalk and lights… past the sky… through the dark and clouds and stars and into the void where he once knew God existed, then turned himself outside-in, alone, and asked, ‘Why?
But in the end, black can never be white, one plus one must always equal two, and Mara Lynn was a normal little girl.
sometimes life isn’t worth the pain. i’m going for a swim. goodbye, my love.
Life operates exactly like the Star Wars prequels. It’s boring, bloated, painful when it shouldn’t be, and lacks a cohesive storyline. And ultimately, it only exists to boost the ego of its creator.
…girls were like poems: weird, incomprehensible and boring, but those “in the know” assured me that they were beautiful.
The night seemed suddenly defiled by the absence of music, as if the silence itself was injecting a sickness that only another song could cure.
Every time I think about that girl, my mind commits a sin.
his stubble was cut smooth. he smelled of aftershave, dry deodorant and sex-tarnished bedsheets. those eyes–grey, strong, inlaid beneath a firm brow that displayed such hate and SUCH love–they seduced her every time… but not tonight.
The Age of the Stars had come to an end. Once in a billion years, a feeble supernova illuminated the vestiges of its home; brown dwarfs, neutron stars, blackholes… lifeless echoes of their former majesty.
Any earthly production would have been cancelled at the slightest suggestion of rain, but this was William’s Stage—it was William’s call—and if the children danced and the congregation remained transfixed, the show would go on.