Do you think it won't always be the same? It will always be the same. The thing which started you will never stop. The mind which you had is staying. You were made more precisely than you know. The voices which knit the world together are precisely your own. Believe, or not believe, according to hopes populating you and stretching too far to know. You don't know French, but "pour moi" nonetheless resonated. You heard the nearly forgotten French singer romantically sing that phrase enthusiastically. Standing at the refrigerator, you wept, thinking on life generally: for me, for me, for me.
