And so you withdraw, pulling back, letting the game take its own shape in your absense. It's the only fair thing, you say, and you wash your hands of it, the drips from your flailing limbs forming the smiles on improvrished children, of new civilizations. Meanwhile, the plant, the central focus of the old world begins to rot, its carcass falling over, crying for its lost parent, even as it dwindles, its edges blur, and the earth reclaims it. You sigh -- you loved it, and it's hard to let go of a way of life, bot today's icons make tomorrow's lumber, and thursday's garden soil. The plants, they're always there, watching us, judging us. An eternal judge? No, judges are as finite as possible. Only thosee that really live can understand what life means. You want to touch infinity, I want to touch finity, the briefest life. The old is not sacred, and even the most aged creatures still take breaths, still have that vitality to postpone things another day.

I cannot see the edge of the lake -- you spoke the words, and the mist in your breath has made for me a fog. The words, they imprison us with the softest manacles. In an age where technology drives for harder, more complex locks and timepieces, you've found the sundials and the stars, where we strive to speak louder and more rapidly, you learn a new economy of words. Funny, that word economy there, how it dances its meanings above and below. You can't stand there with a candy cane, and claim to be mother nature. Death is something we try so hard to understand, but always there's some doubt, some disbelief. iYou don't know if the new concepts are ready to be applied yet, but I tell you, now's the time, if ever. And so another song enters the world, a cry of pain and misery, and a programmed peace.

Anyhow, I'm pissed at myself. Crushes suck -- I keep making a fool of myself, on reflection, to people I have a crush on. Sooner or later, it's going to bite me pretty hard, I think.