Two paths converged in a wood, and I, being the rebel that I am, made a third one.
I always wanted to live next to a brooding, troubled pianist. Or above. Or below. Anywhere close enough to hear him play and begin a fabulous book-worthy romance.
He had a strange mouth, wide and somewhat lopsided, that was all the more appealing in its peculiarities.
It’s not really the fear of falling, is it? We’ve been conditioned to know that falling can’t last forever. It’s the fear of what happens when the falling stops that cripples us. If we could just enjoy the falling itself for what it is… the falling is amazing.