When you think you are in love, you don't want to know about the things that could end it.

I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act. We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin.” -In the yellow time of pollen

Some people are attracted to sickness, to the kind of madness where sparks fly off the head, to the incoherence of despair, masked by nervous energy, which winds up looking like bewildered joy.

From time to time it has struck me that as a writer, I've somehow managed to live my life as I had long ago dreamt of doing, based on the Tintin paradigm: on my toes, travelling, senses attentuated, everything just adventure and exploration, curiosity and problem-solving.

When you can stop you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't.

And I come to realise that all my small todays, the way I act, will lead into my tomorrows.

Love could be fractured and serve different purposes, and that intense love could be divided, between people just as easily as between moments of time.