![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/56019e_c53315e58a9e4f949cbbc745f03d9323~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_980,h_980,al_c,q_90,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_auto/56019e_c53315e58a9e4f949cbbc745f03d9323~mv2.png)
A lot of things, you found, were a lot like
murdering someone. You tried very hard
for a long time to avoid murdering
anyone but then you slipped and murdered
someone. Having murdered your first person
you discovered that it wasn’t as bad
as you expected. You got over it
quickly; life went on, it didn’t really
affect you in any way. You worried
for a while what everyone else would think
but gradually you realized that no one
cared all that much; as time passed you weren’t
even sure that anyone noticed you
murdered someone.
But this morning you woke
and all at once the compound walnut leaves
fell in the frost and the sunshine and now
you find that murdering someone is not
at all like murdering someone—it’s not
a thing like murdering someone, at all.
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