People Might Think Writing Is

His Words Had Tossed The Book That Was Her Life Into The Air And The Pages Had Been Blown Into Disarray, Could Never Be Put Back Together To Tell The Same Story.

My Fingers Positively Itched To Drift At Length Along Their Spines, To Arrive At One Whose Lure I Could Not Pass, To Pluck It Down, To Inch It Open, Then To Close My Eyes And Inhale The Soul-sparking Scent Of Old And Literate Dust.

I'd Pretty Much Given Up Hope Of Being Published, So I Just Wrote The Book I Wanted To Read.

Oh, There Was Harm Indeed For A Young Lady Flattered By The Brief Attentions Of A Handsome Man.

It Is A Cruel, Ironical Art, Photography. The Dragging Of Captured Moments Into The Future; Moments That Should Have Been Allowed To Be Evaporate Into The Past; Should Exist Only In Memories, Glimpsed Through The Fog Of Events That Came After. Photographs Force Us To See People Before Their Future Weighed Them Down.