An excerpt from a man's diary:
I'd been preparing so elegantly for the day. I'd dug that hole so deeply into my chest, using nothing but a burnt and broken wooden spoon, allowing the splinters and I to become one. This slight, sharp pain meant nothing as I thought of the gentle moments ahead. I'd used exact measurements, makings sure not to miss one single millimeter. I needed you there, and I needed you there perfect. Ah, this would not work now. All that had sat upon my mind for the past week was our last encounter. How you sat and you pulled at the hairs on my chest. I could tell you were searching for a trap door of sorts. A way to let yourself inside. You were anxious and ready to claw your way in. The way you pressed your face into my side, trying to hold the scent of me. The scent of us. It lingers to this day, bitter and strong, holding the very essence of everything we had. The way that you gripped me so tightly as if by letting go you'd fall off the earth and and be forced to watch it spin delicately in place as you spun violently out of place. My longing for such action to take place has led me to this moment. And now you have gone, leaving me with a longing so great as I have become so much more a part of nature. A longing that exists in vain, as you are no longer the one I long for. I will feel the pain of every tree chopped at the base by the dull, sickening thud of an ax. I have become so much more a part of nature. I will shed a tear for every leaf delicately plucked from its stem as I recall the stark and disgusting events of that day. If only the tree knew, as I know, that letting them inside, doing the work for them, has such a low success rate. And I have become so much more a part of nature. It's terrifying and lovely and blinding and I want it more than life itself. Now I'm watching the earth grow smaller as I float further and further out. I can still see you, and all of those you surround yourself with. But only for a moment longer. Then you are gone. I have become so much less a part of nature.