berenice, my hands, my feet are worn as much as yours are. and though my head, my hands, my heart are forming, they still feel worlds apart. berenice, beneath it all, you're golden. and that's all i'm feeding on. and though my head, my hands are growing colder, we move in circles now. berenice, there's no release at all that's not worth dying for. and it's not for our desires but our design that we all fall apart.
