I walk out into the garden and pluck the sweetest plumb from the shortest tree and I sink my teeth in the purple flesh, which squishes as the ivory punctures it. Before that, I wander through rainbows and the lives of people sitting in subway cars, as the skeletons rise from the boots and the edge of the world. I don't wonder at the age of disillusionment which pervades in the souls of the children singing hymns in the Summer nights and in the eyes of the owls and the ghosts whose whispers have been lost in the sea of tranquil evasiveness. As I sit and reach forward with a mind ready to wrap itself around you, to squeeze the last droplets of knowledge from your ever-changing ideas of right and opportunity, I sigh and take in the scent of days past and lives left unfulfilled. Can you hear the pitter-patter of my eyelashes clashing against the brick that has long-since replaced your heart? There is nothing left for us in there, nothing left to take or to wonder at. We already have everything you sought to give us. We are already right.