There are things, certain things which I can recall or not at all, that carried me here to where I now rest. I have crossed these stones – carried them, even – and yet I cannot recall the individual features of each. But I do, I do! They are ever present – dead or alive – and they are the stones upon which I am built. They are torn down, broken in some petty disaster, but always reconstruct – always taller. Always taller.
It is a beautiful thing, this life. Savor disenchantment. Never loathe it for it is what molds us.
Love, friend. We are love. We are hate.
Embrace, friend, embrace.