"I think of a lot of things. Basically I think a lot about what i’ll leave when i die. I’ll probably jump down a bridge or get crushed by the wind. And then I’d want to leave my family of plants behind. I’d want someone special to peruse my scrapbook. Someone to see my paintings and my poems. My love for words and the wind and solitude. I remember when once what i hid inside produced a glowing desire that made me flaunt that smile when I thought of it. Then I think about the possibility of no one knowing what I hide. Ever."