Some people like them, so I don't care. I like my butterfly, love, fantasy or dream, illusion, you say, whatever it is, but I like my butterflies. And, Plato, it's a great poem, and, well, the way I understand

This feeling you have has been tended to, managed, maybe even survived, I would say survived from the whole piece over a long time. And then, even knocking an inferno, I'm just wondering, it's a paradox,

Not just do unto others as you have them do unto you, but as you do unto yourself, which means if you don't love yourself with honesty and care, like I do, you cannot love another with honesty and care.

I know you guys are saying it's not legal, yeah? But to me, we are just attempting love, you know? I feel like I have been vindicated with that. Like, I'm attempting love in various degree of disaster.

You're more than like experiencing it with someone. You're more than like being a lover, to be able to be susceptible to this kind of bitterness. Some people who are even loving are very susceptible to

And yet, fundamentally unlived. Yeah. There's this version of us that is walking around and breathing, and like, anti-shower eating, and like, Rami's voice is scrolling through the room in the air, existing,