It's that time of year when trees grow emotions and die... and I find myself less of a stranger in my own head. Consider yourself lucky if you think of your own as home.
The Second City stage is amazing. All of the pain and insecurity disappeared the instant I cleared my throat to speak their names.
She sings Kings of Leon at the top of her lungs. The cold weather will soon be ebbing through her veins. I once loved her in a way that only stool pigeons understand. There must have been so much hope in that morphine drip. I'm no longer failure's advocate.
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We will forever be a community of writers asking you to fall in (love) or be taken (hostage.) We only want to make you smile, and encourage you to pick up the pen, or start using those fingers on your keyboard!
