(no subject)

I'm not a melancholic but I get it, how the ice builds up. You sometimes become aware of its presence only as it melts. What is all that? Why does it keep happening?

Ask why the moonlight not forever etc.

You read Hamlet, you get Hamlet, what's to stop you from writing something even better, adding all you know to all it does. Same thing, I think. You bounce back, it's like elastic. Except that space you occupied is still out there. Hence ice, ice and no longer stone. But ice is hard enough and so much colder.

Our angels snow away but as long as we have our limbs.