I think I'm full of shit. I may be smart, but only when it comes to intellect. I don't get... seriously sad. It's not my medicine. The allergy just turns me into a turtle. I was like this before. So it goes, I say. But I can't bring myself to grieve.

WHAT AM I AFRAID OF?

Need. Or something like it. Without my rock-hard resolve, the world may as well explode. When my head spins, I have no one to lean on. I keep the world stable. I am the keystone who can't let go. Perhaps this fuels my fascination with bridges.

Stoic, sterile, still.

The goddamn tear gods must be fed up with me.