Sublime

There were people flocking to him from all directions. He held the key to every heart.

“He is easier to grow than a carrot,” she remarked.

“Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they’re gone.

He’s feeling a little giddy, a little tragic. He is ripe for the grand gesture, the operatic mistake. Manic is probably the word.

He worried that language had come to the Earth and invented people in order to perpetuate itself.

All the tiny, seemingly insignificant details upon which my world hangs.

He’s a very childlike presence. And it worked like a charm.

Everything changes and this one fucking time, you’re in charge of it, my God, so choose! Make the wrong choice, that’s fine! That’s fine! But choose.’”

grok