August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.

There are still many different ways to get stuck, existentially stuck. Feeling like, "This is worthless. I'm wasting my time, and I would be wasting the time of someone who tried to read this." It happens all the time.

She brushed her eyelashes against his chest.

I try not to remember the life that I didn’t want to lose but lost and have to remember

But I still couldn't figure out what it all meant. The more I found out, the less I understood.

But come. No explaining or mending. Be beside me somewhere.

What kind of world would we create if three times a day we activated our compassion and reason as we sat down to eat, if we had the moral imagination and the pragmatic will to change our most fundamental act of consumption?