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I’ve never told you how it scares me, the way

we’re charging through fog all the time with

compasses smashed to pieces at our feet. Be

cause frankly, we’re lost. Frankly, when the

poetry books burn and the singing stops,

when we’re dead silent and there

are no more books to arrange

by literary period on the

shelves above us,

we. are. Alone.

Scary, isn’t it? Set

a course for med school.

Jump into the sea. Do anything.

No one’ll bat an eye. The world’s yours,

and it doesn’t even matter what you do in it.

In fact, it doesn’t even matter that it doesn’t even

matter. That’s what scares me. That the prow of our

ship is charging through a sea of empty words. That

we’re dying at breakneck pace, miles away from our

homes, and there’s no reason I can think of to stop.