I’ve been looking at your pictures again, the ones you sent me recently and the ones from years ago. I stare at you and I stare at us and I wonder why you have such a hold on me, why I fall in love with you every time I see you.

I think about us and what might have been if only you’d have talked to me more, told me what your real feelings were, told me what was going on. Instead you shut me out, suddenly, cut me off from you in every way. No explanation ever given and still I carry that torch knowing that “we” will never, ever be and likely could have never been anyway.

I don’t forget what it is like to kiss you, to hold you, to be with you. Maybe I ought to.


Has anyone else ever had to deal with the foul, vile, pathetic sub-human species known as ‘underwriters’?

These hateful little creatures secret themselves away in dark, dank holes like the putrid rats that they are and decide whether or not you get your loan. Imagine that!

No one knows who they are and no one can talk to them (and I can not imagine anyone would want to do either). They like it this way these fetid, odious beings for then they have no accountability for their inane and cowardly¬†proclamations. Despite their secrecy I have managed to secure an artist’s rendering of what they must look like:


You would think that time was their only means of sustenance the way they cause lengthy and needless delays. They do it though because no one can stop them and it gives them a nefarious, villainous and vicious pleasure.

Petty, power hungry and mad with self-importance they are and if you ever have to deal with one, Beware! for they’ll steal your very soul if you let them.