Maybe All The Strings Inside

Youth Is Counted Sweetest By Those Who Are No Longer Young.

I Know What Happens A The End Of Falling-landing.

All Representations Of A Thing Are Inherently Abstract.

We Did A Few Things Worth Remembering, And I Wish For Someone To Remember Them.

When We Think Of Death, We Often Imagine It As Happening In Degrees: We Think Of A Sick Person Becoming Less And Less Alive Until Finally They Are Gone.