The night seems to have something to do with it. Do not blame me entirely. It was a choice. Can you feel the fragility of my existence? I could be dust. I could as well haven't existed. The possibility had existed 23 years ago when I didn't yet come into existence, there was a choice to be made. There still is, if only memories could be erased so easily. Existence itself is not so natural, not so real. Nothing is./? (If only I had something between a full-stop and a question mark?) Forgive my lightness. Forgive me. By existence or the lack of it, we may just mean two ends of a continuum of weights, one end heavy while at the other, complete lightness. How we experience it is to each one's own. Do you wonder about the hollow in the flame of a candle? Between the blue and the yellow?