Literature
We want this. The end to sleeping, the bittersweet arousal, the peeling back, the soft bath in resin, the release. It can’t come quick enough, the hot touch that breaks the crust and lets us go. Hear it now: a crackling, as the woods begin to sing alongside the birds. To cry out! To be transformed, like Daphne back into a girl. Pine—as if our very nature demanded that we long without relief. But the cone is like a shotgun on the wall; it must erupt. All it takes is one dumb fuck, trigger-happy, with a six-pack and bad aim, to generate the spark that turns the world to flames.