Mark nodded even though she couldn't see. He'd suddenly lost any desire to talk, and his plans for a perfect day washed away with the stream. The memories. They never let him go, not even for a half hour. They always had to rush back in, bringing all the horror.

You are afraid to lose, you don't react, you are afraid of the horror of something which can be brutal killings and such... You are prepared to a victim I can said from here!

Here. There. Everywhere. Somewhere. Home.

It__ great to be here.

Looking back, I wish that everyone could have that sort of moment: a moment where you realize that your hands are so impossibly small and this world is so impossibly big. And the two don__ seem to add up. Maybe recognizing the smallness of your own hands is just the very first step to changing anything at all.

Perhaps everything terrible is, in its deepest being, something that needs our love.