love
It was death season and just like I had to cut my hair and break my back and lick my wounds to survive again, it needed to wither too. I am not saying it deserved to be tortured or violently scalped in the same fashion of my particular cross, but I am saying: this is just how it has to be.
Read MoreWhat good does it do if we only love those who love us back? Have we come to a point where love is, for the most part, no longer a verb or a noun? Rather, it lives in our lives as more of a tight sphere of self interest? Something we grip onto so grossly and only toss when we can be sure it will be tossed back at greater than or equal to pace and force?
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