The Lesson Of History Is That No

I Mean The Only Thing Us Dead Soldiers Got In Common Is That None Of Us Was Good Enough Or Lucky Enough To Survive The Fight. We're A Host Of Failures.

I Love You Still, But With Your Death I Succumbed To A Kind Of Infatuation. I Convinced Myself That What You And I Had, So Very Briefly, Was Of Far Vaster And Deeper Import Than It Truly Was. Of All The Weapons We Chose To Turn Upon Ourselves, Guilt Is The Sharpest, Silverfox. It Can Carve One's Own Past Into Unrecognizable Shapes, False Memories Leading To Beliefs That Sow All Kinds Of Obsessions.

The Tiger Is Humbled By Memories Of Prey.

Your Brain Works With All The Subtlety Of A Malicious Child.

For We Are All Bound In Stories, And As The Years Pile Up They Turn To Stone, Layer Upon Layer, Building Our Lives.