“If the boy who draws, lets you look over his shoulder. If the poet smiles and shows you her words. If the girl who sings for the shower only, hums a song, in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person but the air and dust that fills their lungs. When the world perishes, and all things cease to exist, you’ll remain inside an ink stain, a paint brush, a song.”
– Alaska Gold