“Do you know that feeling when you are sitting in a room which is brightly lit and it is dark out and you look out the window and all you can see is inky blackness and your own face staring back at you? You smile garishly and so does your reflection. You stab yourself in the throat and so does your reflection and it hurts doubly so, and there are two fountains of blood and two funerals and there are two burnt out galaxies; but there is only me in the cold grave and the reflection of me becomes corporeal and sleeps in my bed and hugs my sisters and pretends to love the same people that I love.
“This is an apology. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. Sorry for being this way, sorry that I know what alcohol tastes like when I’m drowning in it, sorry that I am intimate with the feel of the barrel of a gun against my temple, sorry for the barbed wire, sorry for that, sorry for this, sorry for the cathedrals I ruined and the monuments I set fire to, sorry for the deadbolt and the chain and the lock with no key.”