After the petals had fallen and the seasons passed, after
the most beautiful summer he had ever lived through, and after wrestling with that idea
of beauty and what he had meant by that, after the after and after

the afterafter, after all the afters, he realized once again, he had realized before and
remembered what it was like to Realize, the lack of lack was a plague and he was only living

on a certain plane, one which pulled at him in so many directions, a plane containing a certain gravity
that he abstained from investigating in a formal, rigorous manner, rather choosing to allow this magnetism
to guide his body as he learned intuitively, from trial and error, while leaving himself open to chance and to change.