I asked her, "How did you get here?" And in her eyes was a searching deep and long of miles upon miles trodden and future uncertain.

"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

Run - Air

It is only this - the nervous ache and pleading of life.

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.

The depths that lead to death are the only ones that create. Stagnation is the true enemy.