It never stops raining...

He's a wolf. His nature demands he's dominated, even if he tries to fight it. He'll listen to an amount of force - positive, not negative, but leave the run wide open with no boundaries and he won't listen to you at all. All he'll pay attention to is the call of freedom, even if it leads him straight into a trap. Stop thinking like a human. He's a wolf.

I have to let some things go. I'm not super man, and if I'm to make it out alive, I have to set priorities. for the boundaries of this world are forever shifting - from day to night, joy to sorrow, love to hate, and from life itself to death; and who can say at what moment we may suddenly cross over the border, from one state of existence to another, like heat applied to some flammable substance? I have been given my own ever-changing margins, across which I move, continually and hungrily, like a migrating animal. Now civilised, now untamed; now responsive to decency and human concern, now viciously attuned to the darkest of desires.

I'll remember these days...

Spend my days in the playground...

The challenge lies in knowing how to bring this sort of day to a close. His mind has been wound to a pitch of concentration by the interactions that have haunted his recent days. Now there are only silence and the flashing of the unset clock on the oven. He feels as if he had been playing a computer game which remorselessly tested his reflexes, only to have its plug suddenly pulled from the wall. He is impatient and restless, but simultaneously exhausted and fragile. He is in no state to engage with anything significant. It is of course impossible to read, for a sincere book would demand not only time, but also a clear emotional lawn around the text in which associations and anxieties could emerge and be disentangled. He will perhaps only ever do one thing well in his life.