I love watching women walk in heels. It’s either sexy or clumsy and either way, it always makes me smile.

The darker the humor, the better the medicine.

I’m taking the opportunity to have my thoughts and poems appear in juxtaposition to those of others, in the hope of expanding the range of views available.

When you stop missing the dead, that’s when their life loses meaning.

I wonder how love will bloom this New Year’s Eve. I wonder what kind of chaos will ensnarl itself in this year’s revelries. The hours leading up to the countdown and those first few fleshy pink hours of 2023 are critical. Critical in our human minds, anyway—Time and Space cannot care. And I wonder which way those hours will go and for whom and what it will eventually mean.

You’re going to be okay. You’re worth more than your broken heart has you believing. You’ll live to love again. Or you’ll live. And that’s enough. Because you are enough. Be it for yourself or someone else. Someone who won’t leave you in a puddle of misery the next time around. And if they do, you’ll be ready for it.

If you are averse to religious discussions, I warn you now, “Bible Verses Lie Ahead.” Not for the reason you usually see them thrown around, though. I’m not going to judge you here. In fact, being a fan of the Bible for what I see it to be, I strongly value the statement, “Judge not, lest ye be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” Jesus (if that is Your real name...) said that in the King James Version of the Bible, Book of Matthew, Chapter 7, verse 2. There are countless translations, of course, take your pick.

Take nothing personal. Your spouse loves you more than most other people in the world. Be comfortable with that. They also hate you more than most people in the world. Be comfortable with that, too.

I want to inhale you, smell your hair, rub my cheek against yours, hold you close and dance in the moonlight

I want to talk to you, tell you everything: the important stuff, the trivial stuff, the mind-blowing stuff, the boring stuff

I want to hold your hand, sit in silence, sip from the same glass, eat from the same plate, sleep in the same bed

We all have to play a mental game or two to get thru life, that’s the price paid for being sentient, and nobody’s perfect. But your job can’t be a third wheel. You have to at least like what you do to make bank, or have a modicum of a plan to move on to the next phase of the dream.