I think of myself now like a bug zapper. All kinds of insects are indiscriminately drawn to my light and heat, but if they get close enough they’re shocked into oblivion, before they ever knew what hit them.

And I don’t wish for the bugs to spring back to life, why would I? They made a fatal mistake, one they’d be helpless to prevent if given chance after chance after chance. Because they can’t help who they are.