Aha, love it. Faster faster faster.

EDIT: I journal these days, no fiction sadly, but here's something I've been thinking about lately:

Two lovers, Beren and Luthien, separated at the fords of a river in the north of Doriath, perhaps in the forest of Neldoreth, for what think they the last time. Beren turns away, set for death and ruin, as Luthien watches helpless from the shadowy trees. But in the Lay comes what is decidedly an odd passage, in context: Beren as he wanders reflecting on the vim and vibrancy that surrounds him. The grass grows, the sky is clear, the wind whistles down from a high place through the shimmering willows. Though all to ruin fell the world, he says, Yet were its making good – for this. For this, and for Luthien. His suffering and travails were, are and will be worth the cost, though no happiness may lie in his future and precious little has appeared in his past. The dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea, the stanza ends, That Luthien for a time should be. There is a deep, fundamental beauty to this thought, unquenchable by any evil or darkness, like the light shining from a phial in a web-ridden cave. These two lovers, briefly, have known love undimmed by sorrow or circumstance; to them, little else matters.

“Then again Ilúvatar arose, and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern; and he lifted up his right hand, and behold! a third theme grew amid the confusion, and it was unlike the others. For it seemed at first soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies; but it could not be quenched, and it took to itself power and profundity.”

Often the simplest expressions of beauty are the most unshakable.