...tell her I've stepped out for a bit. This idea of infinity is starting to make me nervous. I could distract myself comparing marbles but I've got a parade to avoid.
Sometimes I start to worry that most of the genius goes unpublished, pretty much unread. What if van Gogh had been an only child?
Of course I can get off the worry train by simply reminding myself that everything is perfect, at least in this universe, as it is. Then I start to fret about the ones who can't get off. The ones who missed their stop several miles back.
Hey, it's all soul music if it's any good. It's all soul food if it's prepared with love. I seldom lock my door. I hope I never close my heart.