Love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.

It is hungry, it it immortal. Worse, it knows nothing of whim.

For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how.

Have no fear, you will find your way. It's in your bones. It's in your soul.

What miracle is this? This giant tree. It stands ten thousand feet high But doesn't reach the ground. Still it stands. Its roots must hold the sky.

I will walk heavy, and I will walk strange.

Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of ‘not knowing.