you can be no one and still escape nothing. in barred windows, their faces are catalogued in longing portraits. no wilderness here in hindsight, boy. there's no one willing to petrify your presence. you're out, in league with the antiquities, and ain't that a thing or two?
we waited you out, The Flood and I, in winter's berth. it's easier to pique with no one watching, and the eager half as willing.
i could never work this genius shit out, for it was always lack of courage.