A short story is a different thing all together–a short story is like a kiss in the dark from a stranger.
If you do not breathe in writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don’t write, because our culture has no use for it.
I could live without you but I would be that raisin in the sun. Relentless agonizing fire. My heart unknown. Weak eyes, twisted sight. A whispered voice with all voices drowned in hollow winds. The flesh would wither from my body. My bones would break one by one by one by one. My festering mind, restless and tangled. I would be always one breath away from extinction. Aware. An inescapable eternal internal howl!