Every day is a lie. But you are dying. That is not a lie. - Cormac McCarthy

And she waited again at the front door with it open, poised between the maw of the dead and loveless house and the outer dark like a frail thief.

The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not.

The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. Ever is a long time. But the boy knew what he knew. That ever is no time at all.