Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead?Or do we just have nothing left to say?

It's a strange feeling, being so utterly surrounded by her. Her life scent is on everything. She's on me and under me and next to me. It's as if the entire room is made out of her.

Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.

I want a new past,new memories, a new first handshake with love. I want to start over in every possible way.

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

It’s not about keeping up the population, it’s about passing on who we are and what we've learned, so things keep going. So we don’t just end.

One mistake, one brief lapse of my new found judgement-that's all it took to unravel everything. What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature.