Once upon a time, when I was a child, I kicked a stone over on the edge of a lake and revealed a nest of bugs. It was sinister and hypnotic, the way they writhed and crawled through the mud, and I-
A dead duck in the reeds, the way she followed me everywhere, anywhere, so unfailingly lovingly and loyal, even to the middle of a lake where I could have, perhaps should have, drowned. She wanted me to be safe, keep living, though I not why save for 'love'.
I put that in quotes because her's was without an expectation of return. It was true. The vast majority is transactional, a mask for hate. And how about that hmm?

You missed 'know'.
Know what...that's fine. Luss. Bullet train velocity, sleek and shiny, steel and sunlight and the smell of wet rails and crackling ions. I'm at peace with my mistakes. Oh yes.