#traplines

'You can't keep doing this, you know' he says. 'You can't just bring me back here any time you want to.' 'Sure I can,' I say, and I close his toolbox and turn toward the door and step out into the sun.

I do have some understanding of the people who make bombs, not because there is any connection between the shattering mirrors and escaping one's fate, but because it is so tempting to think that there is. That moment of destruction when the bomb goes off and somehow we are still intact, alive, and part of the future--that's a moment of pure being, and moment when the self glows with its own light, when it isn't reflecting anything.

That person would have been much more difficult to escape, and when I think of all the other adolescents who have constructed people of their own, so much better than the one I made, I don't think that there are many people in this world who escape their creations.

And while I know there are people in the world who have gotten comfortable with evil, most of us have to settle for becoming comfortable with confession.