Birth, not death, is the hard loss.

From the beginning of time, in childhood, I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

To raise the veil. To see what you're saying goodbye to.

At the end of my suffering/there was a door.

The great thing is not having a mind. Feelings: oh, I have those; they govern me.

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

At first I saw you everywhere. Now only in certain things, at longer intervals.