It’s the fortress you build, it’s your big heavy shield that will be our end. It’s your flickering light, your moderate delight that seem to offend. I know you want to be numb for all the years yet to come and survive us all so that when you finally open your eyes, frozen, but not anesthetized, we don’t get to see your fall. I know I’m not the type of friend that you need. But try and give me your hand: we’ll succeed. I don’t mean to be mean, I know what you’ve seen on your way down here. I hear now you’re somewhere in outer space, with your cracked voice and your broken face, hostile and waiting for a peer. It’s the fortress you build, it’s the hopes that you’ve killed that will be our start. It’s the abyss you evoke at night, it’s your world without delight that will heal your heart. We’ll heal your heart.