just been thinking - what if you can restart at any time, but you still have the imprint of every time you tried? what if a poem is becoming right in front of your eyes of your life, your one bright and gleaming life, your one dark and brooding life, your one life of infinity tries until you get it right enough that you die? on a less poetic note, may november haunt you with understanding. may death teach you the merits of grief.