We were conference-bound, and high-speed conversation bounced back and forth for almost the entire duration until we reached our destination.
I heard the Earth rumbling: it was the hearts of millions of fairies turning to stone and thudding on the ground like persistent, regular blows from a hammer. They were dying in their successive droves as daylight reached one time zone after another around the Planet.
There are two hearts beating, two hearts breathing to the beat of that one drum, breathing naked together, we are joined at the heart and we breathe in unison, always, we pretend it is for always, but know it is not so.
So should you happen to scorn or fail to comprehend or accept who I am, respect my soul, and what I have and haven't done, as I respect life and love itself.
The best we can hope for on a Monday is zombie-like efficiency. This means that although the job will get done efficiently, there will be sacrifices. We normally have to contend with an absence of happiness and severe poetry deprivation.
They have been validated by the sophistry that everything is defined by how the egocentric individual feels about it.