Cities Produce In Me Melancholy Or A

He Decided Then That He Would Love Her Forever No Matter What Came To Pass. It Was Not So Much A Matter Of Deciding As Accepting The Inevitability Of It. It Made Him Feel Better, Though He Felt Perturbed, Too, Worried That This Kiss Was Wrong. But From His Point Of View, At Fourteen Years Old, Their Love Was Entirely Unavoidable. It Had Started On The Day They'd Clung To His Glass Box And Kissed In The Sea, And Now It Must Go On Forever. He Felt Certain Of This.

He Didn't Like Very Many People Any More, Or Very Many Things Either. He Preferred Not To Be This Way, But There It Was, He Was Like That. His Cynicism, A Veteran's Cynicism, Was A Thing That Disturbed Him All The Time.

The Status Quo Was Rote Memorization And Recitation In Classrooms Thronged With Passive Children Who Were Sternly Disciplined When They Expressed Individual Needs.

None Of Those Other Things Makes A Difference. Love Is The Strongest Thing In The World, You Know. Nothing Can Touch It. Nothing Comes Close. If We Love Each Other We're Safe From It All. Love Is The Biggest Thing There Is.

It's A Brooding Melancholy That Haunts Me.