How old were you when it turned out that we only grow to die and how long did it take for that to terrify you, and how long did it take for growing at all to make you sick, how long did you live before you were ready to die? Some people never live at all before theyβre swept away and some people try so hard to escape and keep on failing. Living is so awful, so mind-numbingly painful and yet - and yet and yet and yet - somehow its so beautiful too. Somehow we live only to die and somehow we survive that short, confused, horrified, hiccuping existence, and make it worth it. How does love work that it takes something so tortured and impossible and turns it into something almost beautiful? how does that work at all