it's not the best, but it will do. meanwhile, high up in the snow-capped mountains, there is a burial ground for books. not just any book though, only the best. only the ones worth burying. because we shall return to the earth what we took from it. and yet, you still believe in the fantasy. the crazy miraculous day dream that you survived a plane crash. you were the only one, and you come out with only a broken heart. reality, and i pray it never touches you, is you come out with only parts of yourself. the other halves desecrated into thin air. and you sit down, with difficulty, trying to find the words that may one day, be buried in the mountain. again, another fantasy. the words don't come. how can you write about something you only imagined? the pages remain blank, and the list of things that have to be done become longer. some day.