Heart weeps. Head tries to help heart. Head tells heart how it is, again: You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday. Heart feels better, then. But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart. Heart is so new to this. I want them back, says heart. Head is all heart has. Help, head. Help heart.
because that is the nature of love, because one walks alone through the ruins of the heart, because the young must sleep with their eyes open, because the angels tremble from so much beauty, because memory moves in orbits of absence, because she holds her hands out in the rain, and rain remembers nothing, not even how it became itself.
TOO MANY PRETTY PEOPLE IN THE LAST FEW HOURS. This cannot be doing good things to my ego here.