We’ve all got broken strings, but we try our best not to think about those kinds of things. I find myself thinking about how dark and swampy your eyes get in both November and June… Maybe our bodies weren’t built for this. But I’ll never be sorry for the feelings that I bear in all the places they cannot fit. Sometimes when I am listening carefully I think I hear you singing. Maybe it’s just the sound of the wind hitting our broken strings. But this world is a very lonely place if you never learn how to love broken things.