Maybe I've told you everything I know. Most of it twice. For the first time I sit here with nothing to tell you. Is this what they call writer's block or have I just told you every story I have?
I've revealed every childhood dream and I've described in detail every broken heart I've ever suffered. I mean it's the same heart but every time it's been broken.
You've had to sit through tales of all of the heroes who have passed through my life and all of the pets who have made my life worthwhile. My grandmother, Lottie's, quotes about love and peace and my rantings about war and religion and politics.
You can dig back through this crap and come up with the most intimate details of a hillbilly's life who will clearly tell anybody anything.
I should be ashamed. I am. A little bit.
By tomorrow I should have new dreams. The problem is that I've given up on so much. Peace. Kindness. Romance. Oh, I'm closer to peace myself and I'm hoping that I'm kind. I try. On the other hand, my friends are getting married today. I believe in romance, just not for me. I tried that, too.
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