There is something we do not possess, it seems, that was granted to the frailest creatures, to insects caparisoned in shimmering emerald, impervious and hermetic.

These creatures so like gems, jewels, an infinity of beauteous things dwell outside us, in their own being, where they strive to remain. When we become aware they exist and that possessing them might remedy, however slightly, the infirmity of our own condition, they escape us. But we remember. We retain a fleeting image of their splendor, until the day it turns out we might just be capable. Time has gone by. And so, what time ist still left to us we shall put toward this: annulling, by a contrary, affirming, act every hurt and loss we have borne, for starters. Our end would be to return to the source, in so doing closing the outline of a zero.