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I hadn't understood at the time. If Sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But know I knew why. Without my wounds who was I? my Scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn't that I didn't know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever present loss. I had already seen more of the world, it's beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive. But I knew one More thing. That people who denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger. they were blind sleepwalkers on tightropes, fingers scoring thin air. So I let them go, got up and walked away, knowing I'd given up on something I could never get back. Some Illusion i'd had, that I could be saved, Start Again
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