Living for ever would be like marrying yourself, with no possibility of a divorce.
In real life nothing means anything. Stuff happens and there just is no structure.
Over to my left is the big grey wall in front of the church. Are we the Thoughts of God? a poster asks. No, I realise. It's the reverse.
The sky was the colour of sad weddings.
One of the biggest problems for beginning writers is this need to over-explain.
I wonder at what point my life swerved to avoid that, and if that life would have been nicer than the one I've got.