Even If You're Going To Die, You

Every Man With His Own Peculiar Vice. His Will Hardly Rock Heaven Or Hell.

We Seldom Know What We're Hearing When We Hear Something For The First Time, But One Thing Is Certain: We Hear It As We Will Never Hear It Again. We Return To The Moment To Experience It, I Suppose, But We Can Never Really Find It, Only Its Memory, The Faintest Imprint Of What Really Was, What It Meant.

She Was Tired Of Everyone Wanting To Go To Heaven, Nobody Wanting To Die. The Only Thing Worth Grieving Over, She Said, Was That Sometimes There Was More Beauty In This Life Than The World Could Bear.

One Of Those Out-of-the-ordinary Days That Made Sense Of The Slew Of Ordinary Days. New York Had A Way Of Doing That. Every Now And Then The City Shook Its Soul Out. It Assailed You With An Image, Or A Day, Or A Crime, Or A Terror, Or A Beauty So Difficult To Wrap Your Mind Around That You Had To Shake Your Head In Disbelief.

I Guess This Is What Marriage Is, Or Was, Or Could Be. You Drop The Mask. You Allow The Fatigue In. You Lean Across And Kiss The Years Because They're The Things That Matter.