There were ghosts in the wind, whispers from the snow or the invisible meltwater flowing beneath.
Every word was a cheat. Every thought and feeling was false. I played the game. Everything I touched, I cheapened.
Heaven is boundless, and the sea is beneath you.
There’s something beyond all this. We see hints in books and music.
I don’t want the void. I don’t want fantasies. I want some- thing real—not another fragment of truth to puzzle over . . . .
