Her Smile, I'm Sure, Burnt Rome To

He [zampano] Probably Would Of Insisted On Corrections And Edits, He Was His Own Harshest Critic, But I've Come To Believe Errors, Especially Written Errors, Are Often The Only Markers Left By A Solitary Life: To Sacrifice Them Is To Lose The Angels Of Personality, The Riddle Of A Soul. In This Case A Very Old Soul. A Very Old Riddle.

Love Of Love Written By The Broken Hearted, Love Of Life Written By The Dead.

Here Then - The After Math Of Meaning. A Liftime Finished Between The Space Of Two Frames.

Because The Enormous Narcissism Of Their Parents Deprived Will And Tom Of Suitable Role Models, Both Brothers Learned To Identify With Absence. Consequently, Even If Something Beneficial Fortuitously Entered Their Lives They Immediately Treated It As Temporary. By The Time They Were Teenagers They Were Already Accustomed To A Discontinuous Lifestyle Marked By Constant Threats Of Abandonment And The Lack Of Any Emotional Stability. Unfortunately, "accustomed To" Here Is Really Synonymous With "damaged By.

And Where There Is No Echo There Is No Description Of Space Or Love. There Is Only Silence.