[textileFibrous]

If I asked you why
I would receive a dozen answers.

If I wondered why
I would invent a dozen more.

For now I will live
And only when you rest
Will I wonder again.

I am so sorry
I love you too.

I will live a little longer

Not only for you.

[textileFibrous]

The thing I find most difficult about the world is how many ways there are to make it worse. I could kill a thousand men and ruin nine hundred ninety nine families, and perhaps the thousandth or perhaps the first would have been the kind of man who deserved to die.

I ask myself if I can make it better at all, and in the little smiles you offer I know that I can move in those tiniest of ways. But I know in my heart of hearts that if I truly wish to make a difference, I will have to risk breaking your happiness and replacing it with something worse.

The risk of dying is nothing, for everyone is fated to die. But the risk of ruining your life seems infinite, more infinite than every broken son and daughter praying for a savior. A thousand killings and nine hundred ninety nine murders could never equal the pain that your shattered smile would bring me.

And in a world like this, how am I meant to reconcile the weight of their souls on my shoulders? If I am too patient, if I am too kind, if I am too contented and indolent, if I am too slow to act when the iron is burning and burning and burning, then will there be a world left for you at all?

Will there be a world left for your children's children, if I do not cut a thousand times?

... I will endeavor to cut once, to cut well. And know I am deeply sorry, if I am the one whose life ends first. Is it written already?

The Daughters of Death would tell us it is true. But were there any greater fools than the shepherds for the sheep?