anything, anything is possible, if you can just see the sky.

Then I think of the dark, and the lights, and the roaring, and Juliet, and before I can think of anything else, I fight the final few steps to the door and step out into the cold, where the rain is still coming down like shards of moonlight, or like steel.

Direction, like time, is a general thing, the deprived of boundaries and borders. It is an endless process interception and reinterception, doubling back and adjusting.

A string of bright white buildinh, glistening like teeth over the slurping mouth of the ocean.

Music, I think, he makes me feel like music

There is only what you want and what happens. There is only grabbing on and holding tight in the darkness.

It's an incredible thing, how you can feel so taken care of by someone and yet feel, also, like you would die or do anything just for the chance to protect him back.