By Josiah Robb
He was a lone ranger. A man of few words with a mind like a garbage patch swirling in a summer breeze.
She was anxious for his affection, often chewing the skin around her thumbnails until they bled. But hid it well.
Life’s problems were invisible to him—or simply weaker than his ego’s need to remain uncompromised. She ran herself ragged holding flimsy walls upright around them, beneath a tornado that (arguably) only raged inside her mind.
But nothing in the world could draw an ‘I love you’ from his mouth quicker than the buzz of her suitcase zipper.
“I write because it gives me peace and strength and I simply love doing it.” – the author