Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Room Service At The Pierre

If memories are your currency, I'm a rich 'un, like poor old Jett Rink. Memories aren't everything, though, right? Not if you've got 'em.

You never forget what love feels like. Little Richard trills from a 45 and the hair on your arm stands up. As transparent as I feel, I realize that there are things that I just can't write about. I can barely think about them. 

If you're lucky, hate won't last. Anger fades and life has no scoreboards.

Me? The luckiest man who ever drew a breath.

No comments:

Post a Comment