There was a fall night when I pushed living as it's supposed to be pushed, when the wind and the rain meshed with my own sense of love, and wildness stirred in its contorted and disorienting fervor; wildness, wind, the pangs of existence and living pushed forward--the suffocating stench of rotten-rose life. Fuck it.

But it wasn't. And yet it was.

There was something there that was important. I don't know what it was.