The Only Thing That Makes Life Worth

The Sky Hides The Night Behind It And Shelters The People Beneath From The Horror That Lies Above.

You Will Find Yourself Among People. There Is No Help For This Nor Should You Want It Otherwise. The Passages Where No One Waits Are Dark And Hard To Navigate. The Wet Walls Touch Your Shoulders On Each Side. When The Trees Were There I Cared That They Were There. And Now They Are Gone, Does It Matter? The Passages Where No One Waits Go On And Give No Promise Of An End. You Will Find Yourself Among People, Faces, Clothing, Teeth And Hair And Words, And Many Words When There Was Life, I Said That Life Was Wrong. What Do I Say Now? You Understand?

Because We Don't Know When We Will Die, We Get To Think Of Life As An Inexhaustible Well. Yet Everything Happens Only A Certain Number Of Times, And A Very Small Number Really. How Many More Times Will You Remember A Certain Afternoon Of Your Childhood, An Afternoon That Is So Deeply A Part Of Your Being That You Can't Even Conceive Of Your Life Without It? Perhaps Four Or Five Times More, Perhaps Not Even That. How Many More Times Will You Watch The Full Moon Rise? Perhaps 20. And Yet It All Seems Limitless.

One Never Took The Time To Savour The Details; One Said: Another Day, But Always With The Hidden Knowledge That Each Day Was Unique And Fatal, That There Never Would Be A Return, Another Time.

If You Don't Know Why You Like A Thing, It Is Usually Worth Your While To Attempt To Find Out.