I think that's what finally stopped me. I slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. There was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.

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

...life's big. If you can't fix it, give it a spin.

Come morning I found the day as I have found every other day--without relief or explanation.

Here then - the after math of meaning. A liftime finished between the space of two frames.

Very soon he will vanish completely in the wings of his own wordless stanza. [ ] but his stanza is not completely empty [ * ]

Little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind.