This gust, this warmth, this gentle breeze.
This hurricane, this inferno, this tornado.
Oh, it is not the fact, but the magnitude of the fact which spells doom.
Is not a blizzard but a refreshing breeze, pushed beyond its bounds?
Is not cancer but growth, but overly intense and unchecked?
And then, caution is a shard of terror.
Love is well-directed attatchment.
And a good night's sleep is temporary surrender to our frail nature.