words.amniisia.com

"There are no happy endings, just happy days, happy moments. The only real ending is death, and trust me, no one dies happy. And the price of not dying is that things change all the time, and the only thing you can count on is that there's not a thing you can do about it."

I am nowhere near ready to die. I've died enough. I still have some living to do. I've just got to start doing it a little more carefully.

When was the last time you heard Men at Work, Thompson Twins, or Alphaville on a mainstream radio station? The music from my youth has aged poorly and is now like a joke out of context. You had to be there.

Everyone always wants to know how you can tell when it's true love, and the answer is this: when the pain doesn't fade and the scars don't heal, and it's too damned late.

Nineteen eighty-six was a fine time to be a teenager in love ... Things were so peaceful, they had to send Rambo back to Vietnam to look for action. We had no Internet or grunge bands to dilute our innocence with irony, no glorified slackers or independent films to make darkness appealing. Happiness was still considered socially acceptable.

Loneliness is the theme, and I play it like a symphony, in endless variations. I've lived more than a third of my life, and am more alone now than I've ever been. You're supposed to make your way through life becoming more substantial as you go, the nucleus of your own little universe, your orbit overlapping the orbits of others. Instead, I've shed all those who cared about me like snakeskin, slithering angrily into my small solitary hole.