Death Is Too Much To Ask Of

...i Have Noticed That When Things Happen In One's Imaginings, They Never Happen In One's Life, So I Am Curbing Myself.

Oh, Wise Young Judge.

There Was A Wonderful Atmosphere Of Gentle Age, A Smell Of Flowers And Beeswax, Sweet Yet Faintly Sour And Musty; A Smell That Makes You Feel Very Tender Towards The Past.

I Have Really Sinned. I Am Going To Pause Now, And Sit Here On The Mound Repenting In Deepest Shame.

Still, Looking Through The Old Volumes Was Soothing, Because Thinking Of The Past Made The Present Seem A Little Less Real.