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Há muito de inevitável, sem bem que inexplicável, naquilo que sabemos deveria acontecer. Mesmo que o brilho se apague será possível viver sem ele porque na escuridão também sabemos bem qual a direcção que nos empurra para esse desejo, para essa necessidade de partilhar uma igualdade que apenas fará sentido se recusarmos a distância, se recusarmos manter-nos fora do alcance, mesmo que fiquemos sem brilho. Há muito de inevitável na história que só agora começou a ser escrita. (Oldmirror)

In youth's spring,
it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth a spot
To which I could not love the less
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound
And the tall trees that towered around
But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot as upon all
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
Yet that terror was not fright
But a tremulous delight
And a feeling undefined
Springing from a darkened mind
Death was in that poisoned wave
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his dark imagining
Whose wildering though could even make
An Eden of that dim lake
But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot as upon all
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake
Springing from a darkened mind
So lovely was the loneliness
In youth's spring, it was my lot
In its stilly melody
An Eden of that dim lake
An Eden of that dim lake
Lone, lone, lonely...
- Edgar Allen Poe