Don't you bother asking why. There is math to explain it, then there is common sense to let it be, and should you need any other thing there is empathy. At the end, you have no saying on the matter for I happen to be as stubborn as a man crossing the Pacific on a wooden raft. Listen, it is not about proving something, no. I, I just want a place to sit where I won't feel lonely in the summer. You know, this sort of place with swings and slides, sunny as hell at midday, but with enough shade to read after breakfast. There could be bison grass all over, peppered with patches of daffodils, and dadelions at the edges. People would drop by either early in the morning or at around 5 p.m., so the brightest Sun would be all mine. I am sure my method to bottle up sunlight is going to work, so I will have something to send to her all the way to her cabin next to her loch. You see, she is away for an indefinite amount of time. She is trying to vacate her mind from all the tedious vicissitudes of a life as a museum sculpture. She says she cannot stand all those eyes looking for imperfections as to, of course, there are imperfections on her carved skin, but they are too obvious for people to notice. She did not choose the loch, mind you. When she finally sailed away, on a wooden raft by the way, she for some reason ended up in a turmoil of fog by night, and when it dissipated she saw green, dark hills wrapping her sight. I needn't tell you it was open sea no more. She reached the shore and took home in a brown ample cabin she found empty. Well, there were some birds living in the cupboard, but that's a whole different story. Either way, the sunlight may give her warmth and smiles, and her thoughts of me will come across the land, and if they make it here, perhaps they can grant me some patience. You might still wonder why, my old friend. If it is good enough an answer, if it makes you sigh and silently walk away, I can say it is because it would be a crime not to do it.

Stop saying why, please - it hurts my eyes.

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