My final belief is suffering. And I begin to believe that I do not suffer.
You do not see the river of mourning because it lacks one tear of your own.
You can owe nothing, if you give back its light to the sun.
Even the smallest of creatures carries the sun in its eyes.
All the suns labor to kindle your flame and a microbe puts it out.
When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest.