What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive. You keep your eyes open, you see this damned-to-hell world you got born into, and you ask yourself, 'what life can i live that will let me breathe in & out and love somebody or something and not run off screaming into the woods?
To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another--that is surely the basic instinct. Baser even than hate, the thing with teeth, which can be stilled with a tone of voice or stunned by beauty. If the whole world of the living has to turn on the single point of remaining alive, that pointed endurance is the poetry of hope. The thing with feathers.
Sometimes i still have american dreams. I mean literally. I see microwave ovens and exercise machines and grocery store shelves with 30 brands of shampoo, and i look at these things oddly, in my dream. I stand and think, "what is all this for? What is the hunger that drives this need?" i think it's fear. Codi, i hope you won't be hurt by this, but i don't think i'll ever be going back. I don't think i can.