History Is The Gradual Instant

The Truth Doesn't Care What We Think Of It.

If Love Wants You; If You've Been Melted Down To Stars, You Will Love With Lungs And Gills; With Feathers And Scales; With Warm Blood And Cold.

No One Is Born Just Once. If You're Lucky, You'll Emerge Again In Someone's Arms; Or Unlucky, Wake When The Long Tail Of Terror Brushes The Inside Of Your Skull.

There's A Moment When Love Makes You Believe In Death For The First Time. You Recognize The One Whose Loss, Even Contemplated, You'll Carry Forever, Like A Sleeping Child. All Grief, Anyone's Grief...is The Weight Of A Sleeping Child.

The Dead Leave Us Starving With Mouths Full Of Love.” From “memoriam