Every baby born is the tangible hope for the future, the only immorality that she could believe. When children die, a universe of possibility snuffs out.

She had thought he was dead, or at least not totally alive, and you could not still be dating someone you believe had an autopsy, so it was not really cheating.

She could not keep his death in her head, like when she tried to imagine the infiniteness of the universe and nearly swooned at the vastness of the thought.

The body tries to stop the mind from killing itself, no matter the cost. It is only the lack of strength, the fatigue that lets the jumpers fall at last.

It is hard to truly commune with the recently departed when carrying a plastic bag of dog feces.

Now that this destiny was about to happen, every instinct within him fought against it, realizing he had been fetishizing suicide.

We're all suicides. The tragedy is every day that we don't die.

They tell me how they are not scared to die, but they are terrified of the lives circumstance forces them to lead.

No one should ever die alone. Rejoin the love of the goddess who made you. No longer a man, no longer a human, you must go as only your essence back to She who made you, into the womb of the Great Mother. You have again become a seed that will form into other lives in other lands.