There are certain levels of sadness that introduce you to parts of yourself you never knew existed, and it’s always a much purer version of you that couldn’t be any you-er than you. You fall in love with it and forget to move on.

I believe stories have a will of their own, one that surpasses in volition that of their teller. In realms of Storytelling, stories control their bearers, and eventually, their hearers as well.

I became addicted to the floating nature of nothingness, to the charm of its carefree pauses and to waiting. I magnified waiting. I wrote about waiting. I basked in its warm nook and completely let go of who I am or what I really wanted.