A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face. Jose Luis Borges
I will never stop believing that you should burn the world down for love, that it's the only thing that makes it worth this life. Even though that belief has laid me low, I won't give it up. I will never stop believing that love is all, and no monkey will ever mock that belief enough for me to stop thinking that it could have been my salvation, if only.
I want the people who bear me goodwill to know that someone made my walled garden grow, and stole the oxygen that keeps the monkey alive, keeps that part of me that wants me to die sad and lonely, broken and crazy, which has grown, feeding on the hatred and scorn that have consumed me more and more, from killing what's good in me, but ultimately, I am too small, the part that you can love too humble.
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