From a short story by Jeanette Winterson
(published in last Saturday's Guardian):

"Once upon a time there was a polar bear. He had nowhere to live so he came to live in your head. You started to think polar bear thoughts about icyness and wilderness. You went shopping and looked at fish. At night you dreamed your skin was fur. When you got in the bath you dropped through nameless waters deeper than regret. You left the cold tap running. You flooded the house. You dived into winter with no clothes on. You sought loneliness. You wanted to see the sun rise after a night that lasted as long as all the things you have done wrong. You wanted to see the sun come up and no one to be near you. You wanted to look out over the rim of the world. But you live in the city and the rest is gone."

(...)

"What's the difference between a dinosaur and a human being? A dinosaur destroys everything - but doesn't call it progress."

It's hard, when you suddenly learn how to feel again. The joy and pain of being weak, vulnerable, alive; of watching the sunset as if it were the first time. Eyes wide open struggle to get it all in. Bodies of wax melting under each other's heat.

There we go again, looking for the secret recipe, the magic spell that will grant our shared illusion a speck of eternity. When the night drops its gentle veil upon us, all our wasted moments become one before they are drowned in the bittersweet tears of nostalgia.

Don't leave me now, I'm blind without you, the sun is no longer enough...