She who was gone shall now return. She who was dead shall now have a rebirth. I wonder why things, strange things are one way and one way only and I give myself to endless hours of thinking. Why is this rose a rose and not a serpent? Can the hour return to its minute? Can the voice penetrate this sudden darkness? I who was gone will now return. I who was dead will now rejoice. Time is a lonely seed, a flower that withers slowly amidst the season’s anguish. She who was here is now forgotten. She who was forgotten is now here.