She is everything. And if she is everything, maybe that's answer enough.

Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.

In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.

Deep under our feet the Earth holds its molten breath, while the bones of countless generations watch us and wait.

It's more eerie to be alone in a city that's lit up and functioning than one that's a tomb. If everything were silent, one could almost pretend to be in nature. A forest. A meadow. Crickets and birdsong. But the corpse of civilization is as restless as the creatures that now roam the graveyards.