You go with someone, because you love them. What's the value of action? On its own? What is just plain? At one stage she left whole deep fried fish and five drop dead women who could talk for hours for a place of raving beauty and quiet like you only find in the palest iris. Our lives consist. It doesn't help that people recognize how noble we are, that pain, like skies, still overhangs us, enters our chests as soon as we part our lips to cry out against it. She knew, as soon as they moved, they were ruined and that the lyric of this would sustain their love long after the view had jaded each little antenna she had grown to detect the exquisite.