If I had words, I'd use them but this is most likely of no use.

There has never been such a bitter sweet breaking of my spirit. Each dip back into this timeless place leaves me unbelievably filled and hopelessly yearning for more.

Such a sweet picture of you, really is all it could be.

How do these stories fit together, how did I become so entangled and whole among them?
A toast, to the best of us. Over cheap chardonnay and fried okra, candles, stars, and smoke. It's wholeness and goodness and reality that warms better than rum ever could.

Where's the brilliant turn? The Wes Anderson conclusion that pans across this strange family, showing each of us together and whole?

Words don't come for this, it's all spirit and there are no words. Maybe one day there will be.