I love you. Remember. And someday, I will find you again.

What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.

We are such small, stupid things. For most of my life I thought of nature as the stupid thing: Blind, animal, destructive. We, the humans, were clean and smart and in control: we had wrestled the rest of the world into submission, battered it down, pinned it to a glass slide and the pages of The Bool of Shhh.

For the first time in my life I've done something for me and by choice and not because somebody told me it was good or bad.

I don't understand how everything changes, how the layers of your life get buried. Impossible. At some point, at some time, we must all explode.

It's like a razor blade edging its way through my organs, shredding me, all I can think is: It will kill me, it will kill me, it will kill me. And I don't care.

This is the world we live in, a world of safety and happiness and order, a world without love. A world where children crack their heads on stone fireplaces and nearly gnaw off their tongues and the parents are concerned. Not heartbroken, frantic, desperate. Concerned, as they are when you fail mathematics, as they are when they are late to pay their taxes.