The Real Beauty In Life

There Are Rocks Deep Enough In This Earth That No Matter What The Rupture, They Will Never See The Surface. There Is, I Think, A Fear Of Love. There Is A Fear Of Love.

...and It Strikes Her, As She Walks, That Borders, Like Hatred, Are Exaggerated Precisely Because Otherwise They Would Cease To Exist Altogether.

I Told Him That I Loved Him And That I'd Always Love Him And I Felt Like A Child Who Throws A Centavo Into A Fountain And Then She Has To Tell Someone Her Most Extraordinary Wish Even Though She Knows That The Wish Should Be Kept Secret And That, In Telling It, She Is Quite Probably Losing It. He Replied That I Was Not To Worry, That The Penny Could Come Out Of The Fountain Again And Again And Again.

Even If People Laughed At The Notion Of Goodness, If They Found It Sentimental, Or Nostalgic, It Didn't Matter -- It Was None Of Those Things, He Said, And It Had To Be Fought For.

And I Suddenly Think, As I Look Across The Table At Him, That These Are The Days As They Will Be. This Is The Future As We See It. The Swerve And The Static. The Confidence And The Doubt.