And yearning is your murderer, your truth; should you paralyze an eye, it must be yours, and your god's the other.
Death: on his right a scythe, on his left a nothing.
The other eye shall be wont to the palm that held loss. You think you are the only sinner in this world, but this world aches for more like you. You reckon the world is a sin.
At the wake, my beloved, do not ask yourself the earth it took to not look away; ask of what it is that you yearn for so gravely. It is when you look; you look at only one: you kill for your truth with you as the bearer, or your truth kills you along with another bearer.
