It Was Always The View Of My

I'm Holding Back, Delaying The Information. I'm Lingering In The Prior Moment Because It Was A Time When Other Outcomes Were Still Possible.

But How To Do Feelings? All Very Well To Write "she Felt Sad", Or Describe What A Sad Person Might Do, But What Of Sadness Itself, How Was That Put Across So It Could Be Felt In All Its Lowering Immediacy? Even Harder Was The Threat, Or The Confusion Of Feeling Contradictory Things.

In A Story You Only Had To Wish, You Only Had To Write It Down And You Could Have The World...it Seemed So Obvious Now That It Was Too Late: A Story Was A Form Of Telepathy. By Means Of Inking Symbols Onto A Page, She Was Able To Send Thoughts And Feelings From Her Mind To Her Reader's. It Was A Magical Process, So Commonplace That No One Stopped To Wonder At It. Reading A Sentence And Understanding It Were The Same Thing; As With The Crooking Of A Finger, Nothing Lay Between Them. There Was No Gap During Which The Symbols Were Unraveled.

She Would Simply Wait On The Bridge, Calm And Obstinate, Until Events, Real Events, Not Her Own Fantasies, Roe To Her Challenge, And Dispelled Her Insignificance.

I Don't Really Believe In Evil At All.