The Grasping Of Stars

They'll tell you that you're the ground. Remember that you hold up the sky.

The Dirt Beneath Fingernails

Even though cold is colder. Far is further. Now is longer. Even though it takes so long to dig myself out of you. I still dig.

The Silence Goes For Miles

Don't settle for someone who doesn't give you things to say. Forever is a long time to make small talk.

The Stillness Of Patience

When you can, let me know how long you're willing to miss me for.

The Tears Of Snowmen

I just wish you still made me nervous.

A Special Entry: The Sacred Ground

[Edit: You can pre-order the book right now at Barnes & Noble here]

I have news. I mentioned it on facebook and on twitter. But now I have details. And the only place I haven't said anything, is here.

After a long time, the book I've been working on for you, is done. Nearly 200 of the best, most relevant entries and photos from the I Wrote This For You project are being published on the 20th of December 2011 in print and as an ebook.

The book is split up into four sections; Sun, Moon, Stars, Rain.

It puts things into an order.

It also contains several entries that only appear between its pages.

An enhanced version of the book for tablets will appear next year with music, readings and video.

More news will follow.

If you'd like to get involved, I need someone to write 'iwrotethisforyou.me' in the most interesting place they can find (no freeway overpasses). Napkins, books left behind, notes on notice boards or slipped under doors, leaves, the dust on car windows or traced over someone's skin.

I just never want anyone to come here who didn't find something.

Between now and January 1, If you write 'iwrotethisforyou.me' somewhere interesting, where someone can find it, and send me the picture at pleasefindthis at gmail dot com, I'll post the best ones to facebook and send the creator of the most creative entry a signed copy of the I Wrote This For You book.

There's a lot of exciting stuff happening and I've never been happier here, doing this, with you.

Until the end. I miss you. I love you,

Me

The Realness

On the stage they stand, like statues waiting for the world to end.

The crowd walks in and sees the make up, and thinks it's make up.

They see the tricks, and think they're tricks.

They see a shot ring out from what they think is a toy gun and someone dies, again.

And as you leave, one of them presses a note into your hand.

"It's not pretend. It's all real. Please help me."