I saw a robin redbreast in Central Park today, but it turned out to be a sparrow with an exit wound.
We are the puzzle pieces who seldom fit with other puzzle pieces. We inhabit singledom as our natural resting state. . . Secretly, we are romantics, romantics of the highest order. We want a miracle. Out of millions we have to find the one who will understand. For the quirkyalone, there is no patience for dating just for the sake of not being alone. On a fine but by no means transcendent date, we dream of going home to watch television. We would prfer to be alone with our own thoughts than with a less than perfect fit. . . but when the quirkyalone collides with another, ooh la la. The earth quakes.