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Fig tree:
I wish I could have told him that loneliness is a human invention. Trees are never lonely. Humans think they know with certainty where their being ends and someone else’s starts. (…) For us everything is interconnected.

A map is a two-dimensional representation with arbitrary symbols and incised lines that decide who is to be our enemy and who is to be our friend, who deserves our love and who deserves our hatred and who, our sheer indifference.

What business did he have inside her chest, where her yearning and care resided.

“Rocks are heavy,” says Charlotte. “Your shoulders must get tired.”
“It does. But the longer I carry them, the stronger I feel.”

Death comes, and sometimes it is kind, and often it is cruel, and very rarely it is welcome. But it comes all the same.

Oh, but you are my undoing. My deliverance. My downfall disguised as a deity. You are my ruin.

The truth has my chest tightening, my heart heaving a sigh when my lungs cannot.

It’s a hostile sort of harmony, both of us finally fully aware of what we are to one another - nothing. Just the shell of what was; what could have been.

Where I am, she is. Whether it’s in the flesh or in the fragments of my mind. And where there is a flame, there is always a shadow. She is my inevitable.

She is the embodiment of a bad decision. The twin of danger and desire. The fine line between deadly and divine. And I can feel myself drowning.