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The more we're hurt by beauty, the more we love the world; and the more we love it, the more we're saddened when earth becomes sky and the sun cuts it out into shadows and  edges and wedges of light. Electric, we exist in two forms; bitten in half. Angels and trees fall onto mountains and the face of your friend smiles, a mirror of light's perfection. It dazzles you with the sorrow that it all must come to an end. "Beauty is precious, you see, and the more beautiful something is, the more precious it is; and the more precious something is, the more it hurts us that it will fade away; and the more we are hurt by beauty, the more we love the world; and the more we love it, the more we are saddened that it is like finely powdered salt that runs away through the fingers, or is puffed away by the wind, or is washed away by the rain."  Birds Without Wings, Louis de Bernières