Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of; i never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, i never thought about things at all, everything changed. The distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't the bombs and the burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go; i don't know, but its so painful to think, and to tell you the truth, what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
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