I sit here. In my right hand is a cup of chamomile tea. As I savor each sip, the hurricane inside of me dies down.
Imagine all the countless people before us, billions upon billion of people who have already died. I wonder how each of them lived their lives. Who were they? What were their stories? Will their experiences, like ours, be forever lost, destined to merely fade away into nothingness, to wander this vast expanse of space and time like grains of sand tumbling idly across the billowing dunes of the Sahara?
Dating is like a roller coaster: You get tired of it after a while.
I’m at that point in my life where I feel as if I’ve ridden this ride too many times. I no longer feel sad or happy. I just file away the memories and start anew.
In the beginning, it was all about me, me, me–about what I lost or what could have been. Now I’m just a fountain of sincere well wishes.
Perhaps you’ve heard the story of the man who fired a bullet through his floor into a neighboring apartment, or the Texan congressman whose skull was pierced by celebratory gunfire, or the boy who was killed by a bullet fired from two miles away, or the gunman who randomly shot an elderly man on the street in broad daylight?