Right now, getting killed would be redundant.

There’s always the chance you could die right in the middle of your life story

Crying is right at hand in the smothering dark, closed inside someone else, when you see how everything you can ever accomplish will end up as trash.

You could stab a knife right through my heart and you’d be too late.

There’s always the chance you could die right in the middle of your life story

That's what I love about fire, how it would kill me as quick as anybody else. How it can't know I'm its mother. It's so beautiful and powerful and beyond feeling anything for anybody, that's what I love about fire.