"Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains...On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery." ~The Road, Cormac McCarthy
A good friend moved away today. I hate losing people. I've met so many in my life that I wanted to keep but couldn't. People leaving, people dying. I want to hold on to them but there's nothing to hold on to. Nothing to take with you when you go. All you have is inside.