i supposed that he imagined each of the loose ends strung throughout my life would be sealed and tied up with the brush of his lips against my cheek. but i vowed to find such glue elsewhere; i looked to the world that held breath before my birth was ever written into the books of time. i looked to the matter that would exist if it had not been written in at all, or if it had be scratched out by the Creator in a moment of indecision. for is there not greater beauty in knowing that despite the founded wisdom of the ancient wildernesses, bound in larger stretches of time than even the strongest heart could try to beat for, our pathetic, wriggling bodies were still granted space among them? to connect exclusively with members of our own species, would seem an insult to the grand old world we see before us. but i doubt he ever considered meaning to exist above the line of his sight or below the seat of his pants.