At no point in the past did I want the future to look anything like this. I had your name engraved in various pieces of debris. At no point in the past did I want the future to be petering out, to form this vapid horizon. I can stay mad at me. I wanted more. I looked at gardens and wanted them to be the gardens outside my Santa Monica residence. I looked at celestial events and wished upon them. Those wishes melted into this fork. Dark shine, this wasteland is mine.