“He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.” — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“She wanted to write to him. Tell him she was glad he was back, that he was alive, that he was home… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
Her heart had grown so familiar to the pain of life without him, that to respond now seemed too large a pleasure… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“But every spiteful word she ever wrote him was effortless love clenched in her fists. Her heart screaming for stability in this… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“Writing is hard. Not as hard as not writing. Not writing is torturous, bloody, chaotic and a gruesome winless battle. A writer who writes,… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“He offered her power, money, status... a giant prison, all in exchange for only...her soul.” — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“…so many ticks steadily around the clock. My heart beats ferociously, as if to say it will not digest this leaving. But you are… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“He cared less, so they cared more. He said it was beautiful. I knew he was broken.This was his game.” — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“I had hoped to be disliked by most, not by way of rebellion, but by way of excellence, disdain for the habitual, and the… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“And why is it that time speeds and slows depending on your attendance? I’d like a steady clock, a reliable clock, isolated from the… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“Defend myself? I cannot defend the verbal repressions of a boy. A curmudgeonly, cantankerous, ill-tempered, counterfeit boy.” — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“When you miss someone....it’s weird…your body doesn’t function normally..as it should. Because I miss you, and my heart…it’s not steady…my soul it sings numb.… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“She wanted to write about something other then love. Yet her freethinking pen seemed more adhered to her heart then to her head. A… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
“Our tongues can’t compete with the rapid thinking of our brains, our words come out slow and slurred. The pen is our haven. There… — Jamie Weise Copy Share Image
