And where does this all lead to? I think the hills I am to traverse are necessary. Inevitable, maybe. No new ground is ever found until the toil and turbulence of passing time and bruises of broken relationships are experienced. It's terrible to say, but what is anything without toil. I wish it were otherwise, but even Acorn's meter had its substitutions. There's fracture. There's rhythm. Repetition. Blood spills and our necks hurt from a depressed crane. We don't know that love will be the same beyond our misfortune, but novelty is something to hope for. I haven't known hope myself, but something pushes me forward.