And in the way fate works, the cruel and funny asshole that it can be, my father withheld love from my mom and my mom did whatever she could to get it, a replica of the environment she had growing up.
Don't wait for the coffee or the eggs or the shmuck in the front row to tell you how it is. You'll wait your whole life and then end up in an embankment with a heart full of sorrow and I could have done it betters. The way I see it, time is a con artist. The con artist telling you that this isn't a good time, you should wait. The right time will never exist. Like so many of the things we think are perfect and in the end turn out to be just ordinary.
