Love Is Love. It Doesn't

Leonard Asks Me If There's Anything I Need To Know Before He Dies, I Think About It For A Minute, Turn To Him, Say What's The Meaning Of Life, Leonard? He Laughs, Says That's An Easy One, My Son, It's Whatever You Want It To Be.

It Started When She Passed Me A Note In English Class. The Note Said You Don't Seem As Awful As I Hear You Are. I Passed One Back That Read: Beware I Am As Awful As People Say And Worse. She Laughed And I Had A Friend. She Didn't Become My Ally And I Didn't Ask Her To Or Want Her To But She Became My Friend And That Was More Than Anyone Else Was Willing To Do.

I Don't Want To Walk In The Middle. I Want People To Read What I Write And Feel Strongly About It. If, At Some Point, Whatever I Am Doing Is Failing To Elicit A Response, Whether It's Very Positive Or Very Negative, Then I Am Going To Stop Doing It.

I'm Just Going To Write My Books And Do My Work And Release It. Let The World Decide What It Is, And If It's Any Good Or Not.

I Close My Eyes And I Take A Deep Breath And I Think About My Life And How I Ended Up This Way. I Think About The Ruin, Devastation And Wreckage I Have Caused To Myself And To Others. I Think About Self-hatred And Self-loathing. I Think About How And Why And What Happened And The Thoughts Come Easily, But The Answers Don't.