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 burning
buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go.
Is ignorance bliss? I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think.
And tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to 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