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Quote by Stewart Stafford

“Aftershock by Stewart Stafford Sitting by myself at the firepit, The dregs of last night's inferno, Still charcoal from vibrant flame, Charred bones of the festivities. Dropped food and empty bottles, A littering ring, now seen in light, The laughs and drunken banter, Distant echoes that bring smiles. Head throbs, chill morning breeze, Take two pills and zip up my jacket, Post-party blues gripping onto me, Happiness, revisit on swiftest wings! © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

Quote by Stewart Stafford

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Stewart Stafford

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“I wished for one heart in which I could pour unrestrained my plaints, and by the heavenly nature of the soil blessed fruit might spring from such bad seed. Yet how could I find this? The love that is the soul of friendship is a soft spirit seldom found except when two amiable creatures are knit from early youth, or when bound by mutual suffering and pursuits; it comes to some of the elect unsought and unaware; it descends as gentle dew on chosen spots which however barren they were before become under its benign influence fertile in all sweet plants; but when desired it flies; it scoffs at the prayers of its votaries; it will bestow, but not be sought.”

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“I've also learned how to fit in, but constantly trying to do so is more than just uncomfortable now, it hurts. Because I don't. Fit. I fold my jagged edges inside myself and smooth over the most obvious differences between us, but I am not the same as you. There are over 7 billion people on the planet, and yet I have somehow managed to spend a lifetime feeling alone.”

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Book:His & Hers
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“There have been plenty of people in my life - family, friends, colleagues, lovers, a forecast of the usual suspects that make a person's social circle - but mine has always felt a little bent out of shape. None of the relationships I've ever formed with another human being feel real to me, more like a series of missed connections. People might recognize my face, they may even know my name, but they'll never know the real me. Nobody does. I've always been selfish with the true thoughts and feelings inside my head. I don't share them with anyone because I can't. There is a version of me I can only ever be with myself.”

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“Freedom sounds phenomenal to the preoccupied young. But when one is an adult and has “free days” there is simply not much to do. Even in Los Angeles, where everything was. There was an unspoken spell of solitude cast on the city. Once one has been to the main parts of town, and had their fair share at the beach, Los Angeles turned unbreathably lonely. The biggest risks took place in grocery stores where a quiet shopper chose to switch to multi-grain bread after two years on sourdough. One could use their afternoons to create art— maybe writing a poem or painting a picture—all of which pass time but are isolating activities in and of themselves. The child begs for freedom and the adult wants to be told what to do.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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