The fog was thick enough to look like tiny snowflakes, only visible in passing cars’ headlights, that seemed to melt just before contact. And we sat on a step in front of St. Kev’s, trying for two hours to determine the correct justification for continuing to live. I remembered sitting on the hill behind Fitten, talking to her next to me but always looking forward, not really being able to see anything. I suggested that the intricate beauty of life is reason enough, the mind-blowing ecstasy we should feel constantly as a result of the very reality of our existence.
But you and I know I don’t believe that. (7 June 2007)
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