or the good I am not. despite the small, private success of a life as mine, I can be, and I am, defined as another mouth to be fed, and another soul to be nurtured. the cruel truth is that one always feels like a bad investment. unwrapping and waving the white flag of ideologies of greatness does not mean that, financially speaking, the investment is secured. there is no hedge fund when it comes to a life. they, meaning parents, grandparents, friends, and relatives, might never recover, buy back, the things that they have spent for one’s life. I’m afraid we are nature, and nature grows trees, and flowers, and apples, and nature can ruin and never be reborn, it can grow poison, it can do things. how can I trust the hands of such an unstable, sickly, beastly, thorn-growing nature as mine, the nature of a human being, the nature of things. such lives are spent by, lent to, a more general nature of things among which the human nature just might be the most beautiful and the most repulsive thing there is. no other thing can recall such powerfully contrasting, mind-blowing, oppositions. so ugly that it is beautiful. like bodies, flesh and glorious architecture. mouths to be fed, yet, like hopes, they sleep as soundly as ethereal creatures during the day. dormant, the promise is embedded into the walls of cells, so thin, so full of power, so much like dust.